


Curiosity Killed The Cat

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Blood and Gore, Child Belgium, Child Poland, Complete, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Detective Alfred Jones is fresh to the New York City scene, and ready to take a bite out of the world. One day, the case of a life time is dropped in his lap. Will he bear the stress of his first serious case? Will his sanity survive the antics of his new crime busting partner? Read to find out!





	1. Smoke and Mirrors

The most difficult case that detective Jones ever accepted was his own life. From a humble orange farming family, the excitable blonde was never satisfied. The produce business wasn't enough adventure. The moment he had the means, a young Alfred had moved across the country. He spent almost a decade in Maine, under the watchful glare of his stuffy uncle Arthur.

Despite the rainy and dismal charms of the state, it was never enough. Alfred was always too nosy, too inquisitive. He always investigated things without asking, tearing into people's personal affairs. No explanation was good enough until he saw the evidence.

Alfred's insatiable curiosity made for difficult living. It was only a matter of time before Arthur had enough of the housing arrangements. After a rather vocal argument at a Christmas party, it was hardly a surprise the now young adult Alfred was promptly kicked to the curb. Still, the energetic blonde was an optimist. He took the humbling opportunity to change his life.

As a fresh young 21 year old, the man moved to New York City and followed his dreams. It took several unsavoury life decisions, and a lot of hard work to achieve. Still, it was all worth it. There was three unstable years of bouncing from boarding houses to slum apartments. Now Alfred was a professional detective. He was a bright star on the scene, chasing down one case after another.

Granted, most cases were about divorces or cheating lovers, but the work was _fun_. The stakeouts could be pretty dry, lasting hours. The paper work could be somewhat monotonous. The allure of it all was the mystery. Why was a man stealing from his partner's business? What drove a person to cheat on their wife? What possible reason could a teen have for a PDF of the Anarchist's Cookbook on her hard drive? The hunger to unravel this pushed Alfred on.

Of course, there was new obstacles in every challenge. One obstacle in particular was thwarting Alfred's business. Ivan Braginksy was a rival detective, a veteran to the New York City area. He was a big crooked nosed pale man, with his snooty little one liners. The Russian giant of a man was always in his fancy suits. Alfred would show that stuffy man in his stupid official office.

Alfred didn't need a fancy building to work. He had a previously owned Toyota Corolla that was just _fine_. The trunk was his filing cabinet, the back seat was his bed, and the front seat was his dining room. Sure, the powder blue sedan was a little cramped. Sure, things could be tough. But a hero detective like Alfred wasn't going to be put off by that.

A new case had called, and today Alfred was ready! It was a rough sounding male looking for a person of interest. The call was short and shady, much like the complex Alfred arrived at. It was a dark brick building from a long gone era, all the small windows covered by curtains.

Uncertain, the young man put on a brave face and entered inside the door. It was easy to get inside, but the interior made him second guess this latest job. It was a dreary place, floral wallpaper from another age everywhere. As Alfred headed up the stairs to his client's apartment, he took in details of the building.

This place was either low income or about to be condemned, if the rotting musk in the air was any indicator. Many apartments were missing numbers on the doors. The lights had to be thirty years old, some dim from time. The fact that the elevator was out of service was not alarming. The sheer amount of dust on the construction scene tape was.

This was a setup then. Alfred didn't know who he pissed off so much, but he was more than ready to deal with them. Pulling a pistol out of a hip holster, the blonde proceeded with great care. Rounding the darkened hall corner, the last apartment on the floor was well lit. It's golden light spilled into the hall. This was the only lit apartment, door wide open.

Alfred defied the human urge to speak out, silent as he padded into the neglected trash strewn space. There, in a dim corner, a man sat in a cracked green leather chair. He wore a stylish fedora tipped down to hide most of his face. The entire face wasn't needed, that silver stubble jaw memorized.

“Ivan. Why are you here? Stealing another divorcee case on me? Can't find your own?” Alfred taunted, familiar with the crooked nosed bastard before him. They were constantly tripping over each others turf at points of investigating interest.

“You assume so much, Mister Jones.” Ivan greeted in Russian lilted purrs, tilting his hat just enough. Violet eyes were glinting with mischief from beneath the darkened rim of the hat.

“I _know_ as much, you walking stereotype.”

Ivan chuckled at the insult, lighting a cigarette. He offered one to Alfred, smirking. A chronic smoker since he ran away from home, the younger man holstered his gun and accepted the offering. After a moment, he took a sweet, sweet puff and sighed. Oh dear mother nicotine hold him.

“Please sit. I have much to discuss.” Ivan prompted, gesturing to another dirty old chair. It seemed the older detective had put in effort to clean the worst of the dust off. Alfred sat with caution, testing the springs in the worn furniture. Once Alfred deemed it safe and relaxed slightly, Ivan continued to speak.

“I called you here, Mister Jones.”

“Why?”

“It seems despite your shitty car, second hand suits, and poor manners, you get results. You get results very fast, without complications.” Ivan leaned forward in great interest, fingers tented. “I see it. You have that hunger. A will to learn. I will admit, it intrigues me.”

Alfred puffed with pride at the statement, taking it as a compliment. “Well, thanks.”

“All of this was a test of your common sense. The old building, whether you would be stupid enough to call out. Your judge of character, Mister Jones. You passed, proving you would be adequate.”

Alfred perked a brow, wondering what this crazy loon was getting at.

“To put it simple, Mister Jones. I want to hire you for a job.”

The younger detective burst into laughter. “You've really lost it there bud. I'm not working for you. You're my rival, my enemy. You only exist to ruin my business and cramp my style.”

“Under regular circumstances, I would say the same of you. But a case of mine has been most troubling to solve. I think a fresh perspective would produce new leads.” Ivan replied coolly, his deadpan stare unflinching.

Alfred took a long drag, as did Ivan. Rubbing his temples, the younger man dragged a free hand over his face. He needed the money bad, having been evicted three weeks prior. Living out of a decade old corolla wasn't an ideal life choice. “Fine. What's the job.”

The older man seemed to smile for real at hearing his, a warmer thing to see. It was almost jolly, for how short lived the expression was. “I was big policeman from Russia. Always had a partner to watch my back. Even when I came to America to play detective, I had partner. I ran with detective Yao for five years. Three months ago, he was murdered. The police find nothing, they do not care. I... cannot find additional leads, and the case is getting cold.” 

With this blurb of information, the gravity of the moment became real. Detective Ivan seemed crestfallen as he rested his muzzle on twined fingers. “He was my friend and work associate, Mister Jones. He deserves justice for his death.”

Alfred stood sharply. “No no no. I do not do murder cases.”

“Oh, is a great shame. This one thousand dollar advance is just so heavy.” Ivan teased, once more the sardonic ass hole he always was. A thin wad of bills was plucked from the internal pocket of his stereotypical detective's coat.

Alfred froze his retreating movements, eyeing the fresh bills. He needed it, he _wanted_ it. He lusted for cash even more than personal justice. Ivan noted this, twirling the money in his large gloved hands. He spoke with confidence that made Alfred's insides bristle. “Oh. What a waste. Crime left unpunished. Money thrown away.” He then flicked a metal lighter to life. The weak flame was horrifyingly close to the wad of money. The Russian flash a malicious grin.

“Don't! Just, don't you crazy fucking bastard!” Alfred cursed, lunging forward and rescuing the bills. He counted the mixed denominations twice, then snapped the rubber band back on.

“By accepting the payment, you have agreed to my terms. We must be going, there is much work to be done.” Ivan ordered, putting his lighter away. He stood, dusted off his long wide collared coat, and began to leave.

“What terms? You never said terms!” Alfred asked in grave concern, still clutching the money. Ivan only winked and headed downstairs.

“What terms!?” the honey blonde yelled down the stairs, running down the decrepit hall.

Ivan waited at the bottom, looking up expectantly. “Come little detective! There is much work to do!”

Alfred groaned, raking fingers through his honey coloured hair. What fresh hell had he just been tricked into?


	2. Emerging From Night

For all the experience and power Ivan seemed to wield, he was not infallible. He was clouded by nostalgia whenever he spoke of Wang Yao. Alfred saw many mistakes in Ivan's investigative notes from the start. The veteran cop and detective was too close to the case, yet unwilling to admit it. He skipped over any lead that directly suggested Yao was guilty of anything.

The criminal history of the Chinese American should have been a hint. There was no doubt the poor bastard had served time in his homeland. The sheer variety of coded tattoos on his body was reminiscent of Russian gang markings. Still Ivan was adamant that Wang Yao was some sort of saint. Alfred never would have pegged his new employer as the sentimental type.

It was now a month since Ivan strong armed Alfred into working for him. The murder case of Wang Yao was stone cold, and only getting cooler. This was partially Ivan's fault. He seemed unable to turn a customer away unless it was clearly police level business. As a result, the ash blonde was often doing three cases at a time. They were all petty cases of course. Runaway children, finding alimony dodging partners, missing cars... typical upper crust nonsense.

More often then not, Alfred was drafted into the endless work loads. This happened so frequently, the temporary hire was given a desk to work at in Ivan's office. Quite honestly, Alfred didn't belong in Ivan's high class world. Alfred's clientele were cheating scumbags and cash strapped house wives. He was not destined to live in this marble loft, high in the economic atmosphere.

That beautiful desk Ivan had “dragged in for the occasion” was undeserving. The sooner Alfred convinced Ivan his dead friend was a shit bag killed over gambling debts, the better. Then the honey blonde could return the environment he felt the most comfortable, hitting the streets undercover. His toughest cases were mostly solved by recording conversations while in disguise. Alfred was a brilliant actor in a pinch.

Morning sun rose over the parking lot. The asphalt was sun bleached and cracked, bright yellow dandelions pushing through. This was a desolate and abandoned place, the parking lot of a long dead factory. The depressing location was far from fresh water or supermarkets. This made it mostly safe to park at for the night. There wasn't many places left in New York City that a guy could park and sleep. At least, not without being hassled and woken up a few times.

Despite Ivan's generous pay, Alfred still couldn't afford a decent apartment. Thus, the abandoned parking lot was his current home. This particularly beautiful sunrise, Alfred was having a self care moment. He was still in his pyjamas, having finished off a cheap coffee from a nearby diner. A disposable beer cup full of water was sitting in the cup holder. A can of shaving cream was at the ready. Angling the mirror used for looking out the back window, a luxurious shave was underway.

Done the right side of his face, Alfred hummed to his favourite big band CD's. About to lather the left side, there was a sharp rap of knuckles on the passenger side window. Alfred jolted in his skin, completely startled. There the bastard was, in his long designer coat and stylish fedora.

Ivan was outside his car, having seen Alfred shave in sleepwear. Heart and mind racing, The panicking detective turned the CD playing radio off. He rolled the window down with controls on the driver side. “Um... Hey there fella. Such a nice morning isn't it?” His voice cracked from clear anxiety, despite attempts at control.

Ivan said nothing, glancing at the comforter and pillows still set up in the back seat. The suits draped over the back seat in protective plastic covers. The can of cold breakfast ravioli still sat on the dash board, open with a spoon jammed in it.

When the man finally spoke, he had a neutral expression. It was not one of judgment, but distanced curiosity. “Hello Detective. I didn't take you as a man in such dire straits.”

“I can explain... I, um, am just a little... God don't make me explain.”

“No need. I already suspected this.” Ivan cut off a semi-frantic Alfred, so unbearably embarrassing in this vulnerable moment. “You always smell faintly of chlorine, and you have a YMCA card on your keys. There is better gyms, with better showers. But YMCA doesn't ask questions, and a membership card can be paid for in cash. Logically, you picked the cheapest place you could find with hot water access.”

Alfred listened, silently waiting condemnation. Still the monologue went on.

“Your suits always had creases in odd places, spotted with distinct fibres generally used in car seats. At first I dismissed this, until I realized how worn the suits are. No professional detective would dare wear such things unless they didn't have a choice. The last vital clue was you, Mister Jones. You hold on to every penny like it's your last. You reek of desperation. You don't like leaving the office. When you do, my secretary's lunch vanishes with you. Every little twitch you make, I know. It's my job.”

There was a long stretch of silence, as they stared. Frightened blue eyes met calm violet. Beneath this almost sombre gaze, there was a trace of understanding. Was Alfred not getting fired? He dared to hope, breaking the ice first.

“So... am I getting fired?”

Ivan shook his head. “No. You have given me new insight into my partner's murder. I am... perhaps too close to the case, as you say.” There was a silent reason not being voiced of course. The reason why Ivan absolutely insisted on a desk in the same room as his own. Why Alfred was often dragged into additional cases and stakeouts. It was a reason so basal and primitive it didn't need words.

The former cop obviously missed having a partner to back him up. Put simply, Ivan missed human companionship of any kind. The nut job was a workaholic, only living for the next case. It was rather sad. Alfred really wasn't what this guy wanted, because Ivan needed a damn therapist.

“I was intending to keep you around, Mister Jones.” Ivan stated awkwardly, like a line practised by a nervous teen. This charade was not going on any farther!

“No. I'm not going to be your lackey.” Alfred denied sharply. Stubbornly staring back, the blonde gave no quarter. He didn't want drama. He didn't want to carry another person's emotional baggage, especially in a work environment. If Alfred wanted to deal with that trash, he would have stayed in Maine with Uncle Arthur.

Ivan scowled darkly, ready to turn heel and leave. “Fine. I no longer require your services.”

Dumping his shaving supplies on the spot, Alfred scrambled out the the car. That walking pay cheque was the only thing keeping him alive. Grabbing the taller man by the arm, Alfred was given a evil glare. “Now hold on! I meant no, I have terms that need to be talked about! Just come on and let's talk this out... No need to react.”

No longer being towed along, Alfred's words seemed to sink into that thick skull. Ivan stopped walking to his own vehicle, looking over his shoulder with suspicion. At least he was listening now. “I'm not opposed to working full time at the office. But I have demands.”

“What are they?” Ivan asked coldly, still ready to bolt.

“You can't just ignore my ideas because they make Wang look bad. He was a gambler, he came from a criminal past. That's all huge leads you won't even look at because of some stupid worship thing going on.” Alfred explained, letting go and backing up wisely.

Ivan visibly reddened with anger, words low and threatening. “Wang Yao saved my life. He was a hero and you have no right to accuse him of wrong doing.”

“Okay, okay. I get that. But he gambled, right?”

Ivan looked away, sullen like a pouting child. “Yes.”

“He hung out with shady people, right?”

“ _Yes_.” the respond was grated and angry, despite being so quiet.

“So. We do one little mission. I guarantee we'll find a lead.”

Ivan's usually hidden temper receded to whatever internal reserve it came from. Alfred made a note not to piss his boss off in the future. Lighting a cigarette, Ivan calmed and resumed his cold neutrality. “Fine. One little trip. Then you will let his honourable spirit rest in peace. As for these terms, we can discuss them after. We need to deal with your disgusting state of existence first.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Alfred blurted out in anger of his own.

Ivan was a very literal creature. He intended to change every faucet of Alfred's appearance. The cripplingly poor detective felt lost and confused as he was dragged from one store to another. It was almost degrading how wealthy customers scoffed at Alfred's presence. They treated him like a bug. Why was his new boss buying him suits and getting him a haircut? Why did Ivan care at all? The only straight answer Alfred could get is “My business requires a level of sophistication.”

This was all a dream to the tired American. None of this was real, a bubble to be burst by the slightest breeze. It was now afternoon, and Alfred was in a foggy haze of disbelief. Ivan had been nearly nonverbal most of the day, only speaking orders to servers and sales people. Sitting in the passenger seat of Ivan's modest black car, they were parked in front of a ten story building. It was new brick and lovely gardening, like a postcard come to life.

“You need an address so I can hire you. So you live at this address now.” Ivan said bluntly, shoving a paper in Alfred's hand.

“Who the hell gave you the right to decide these things for me? Why are you doing any of this?” Alfred protested, absolutely certain this was all a cruel joke.

Ivan seemed to crumple slightly under the criticism. “All you do is complain. I already regret this.”

Alfred's fierce pride softened. He could at least look at the paper. He read it, 1420 Piper street, apartment 1013. Looking out the car, Alfred caught the street name. Piper street. This building was ten stories high, and matched the numbers so far. “Is this the place?”

Ivan nodded, motioning to grab most of Alfred's shopping bags. The man was already in a grumpy mood, having looked ready to kill earlier. The younger detective simply let him have his pointless chivalry, or whatever this was. “I think you will find the space to your liking.” the man said simply.

The complex was far from the astronomically high luxury of New York elites, but above any slum. It was a friendly normal space with standard warm walls. The elevator ride was deathly quiet. Alfred didn't know what to say. There wasn't anything to say. This entire day was a weird dream.

In all Alfred's life, no one had done much of anything for him. Even his beloved mom and dad were quick to withdraw support after a time. It seemed he was getting nothing if he wasn't willing to run the Florida orange farm. Even Arthur, the last branch of the family tree, had been of little comfort. So it was obvious this entire offer was a huge joke at Alfred's expense. He was merely waiting for the punch line.

They entered an apartment that was in modest terms, lavish. Fine art and a few family pictures graced the walls. The whole place had the charm of a fresh brewed latte, sensible colours and textures. Ivan seemed unaffected by the grandeur of this place, leading the way. He showed Alfred a small room, no better than a closet to the wealthy. It was just big enough to jam a twin mattress against one side. To Alfred, it was some kind of paradise.

“This would be your room.” Ivan said simply.

Alfred was afraid to touch any of this. It wasn't real. People didn't just give you a place to live out of the blue. “Why are you doing this? Who even owns this place?”

Ivan looked as unimpressed as ever, even if his actions spoke the opposite. “Get cleaned up and dressed in one of the new suits. We have to find that missing son before Mister Edelstein nags my secretary to death.” With that brutish statement, the tall man left Alfred alone.

Alfred hesitantly touched things as he shuffled to his bed. The wood grain of an empty shelf. The smooth drywall. The warm rug tossed casually on the floor. Sitting on the soft bed, Alfred gingerly touched the pillows and blankets. This was real. These likely downy filled pillows were real. Alfred really had somewhere warm to live, that wasn't a rusting car!

Thick salty tears of relief sprang to life from Alfred's eyes. The guilty burden of being a car hobo was finally lifted off his shoulders. He sucked in deep sobbing breaths of joy, grabbing a soft pillow and squeezing it. It was laced with the scent of fresh soap and hope for the future. Giggles of happiness were stifled by soft linen.

After a while Ivan peeked in, cocking a brow. “Why are you taking so long?”

“Nothin'. Allergies. I need a minute and I'll hop in the shower.” Alfred sniffled, unable to stop smiling.

The bathroom was larger than Alfred's new room, in muted gentle tiles. The shower was warm, the borrowed body gels were soft and scented. They were infinitely more pleasant than baking soda baths with cups of water in a parking lot. Lathering white bubbles, he squished them between his fingers. He ran suds over every inch of his body. It felt good to wash away the grime and the shame. Renewed and happy, Alfred dried and dressed after. Even his hair was styled, although one stubborn cowlick refused to obey.

Wearing a pinstriped navy suit, the blonde was dashing. Alfred stepped out with flourish, ignoring the stony face Ivan always wore. “I look amazing!” He called out in sing song.

“You don't look disgusting anymore.” Ivan offered dully, taking the back door route to a compliment. Still, he had the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Okay! So we do your missing kid thing, then my undercover gig.” Alfred began, keen to be in charge. Having been powerless in that fancy mall was an uncomfortable experience Alfred wished to counterbalance.

Ivan was not resisting for now, standing and adjusting his ever present fedora. “Very well. I do not like undercover work though. Interrogations are much easier.”

“Think of it like video games Ivan! You've played those right?”

“Nyet. I do not play with _child toys_.” The grumpy ex-cop couldn't have replied with more disdain, as if fun was supposed to be illegal. That big goof had a lot of things to learn if he was going to work with super star Alfred Jones, ultimate hero detective!


	3. Boys On The Run

The drive through New York City was a long one. They were driving up to a gated community Alfred had never even heard of before. It was something excruciatingly pretentious that could double as an old age home. Gilded Gate Living? Paradise Place? The name didn't matter much since this was a short visit with a client.

Locked in rush hour traffic, the pair had plenty of time to chat. It was dead quiet and Alfred didn't much like it. Ivan never talked about himself, highly independent even when they paired up. It was actually unnerving to know so little about the man, now his benefactor.

Alfred tapped his fingers on the handle of the car door. The quiet was unbearable, so he broke it. “So... Who owns that apartment I live in?”

“It's a condominium, and I own it.” Ivan replied shortly.

“Oh, because all I saw was pictures of other people.”

“I do not like being in pictures.”

Well this guy was a hell of a conversationalist. Alfred decided to give it another college try. “So, who's in the pictures?”

Ivan sighed, resigned to speaking again. “Work colleagues, old friends, my wife and son, a few pets...”

“You have a wife and son?” Alfred blurted out in surprise. There had been no signs at all of this in the office.

“Not anymore.” Ivan's terse response only made Alfred pick and nag at him until he caved. “You won't stop until I explain, won't you?”

“You're starting to understand how I work big guy. Like, I just like knowing about the big softy that gave me a room. What was your wife like? Where did you meet? How old is your –”

“ _Shut up_ Mister Jones. I will explain.” Ivan interrupted, annoyed once more. He lurched the car forward a few feet, then drummed his fingers on the wheel a few times. “I met her through an arranged marriage. Do not look at me like that. These things still happen.”

Alfred, about to speak up, chewed on his lip instead.

“We both did what was best for each other's families, and went through with the ceremony. The wedding was... acceptable I suppose. After, I went for police training. I spent a lot of time outside the house. It can't be helped in a policeman's life. I loved my work. As the motto goes, by serving Russia, I serve the law!” Thumping his own chest with pride, Ivan actually smiled a moment. It was a nice sight.

“But... da. Marriage was not so good. We grew to hate each other. When we had a son, he was going to be light of my life. Yet I suspected things. I had a paternity test done, and he was not mine. Neither of us wanted to shame our families, so I released her from the marriage. She remarried her secret lover three months later. Mikhail was too young to know me, so I left his life completely.”

Alfred listened, rather stunned. “So... is that why you came to USA?”

“Nyet, I left because of corruption. Law in Russia is like... sick plant. From roots to leaf, it is infested with bad luck.” Ivan gestured upwards, clenched fist unfurling to open palm to imitate leaves. “I knew I could do law better, in different ways. United States of America is much warmer too.”

“But you just left a kid behind.”

Ivan glared upon hearing the accusatory statement. His cold violet eyes cut like a knife, making Alfred nearly flinch. “Is it so much better raising child in a hate filled marriage?”

Scratching his neck, Alfred looked away a moment. The statement had a ring of truth to it, reminding him of a few miserable uncles. “No. I guess not.” The awkwardness of quiet returned for sometime. Alfred fiddled with the radio but it was all commercials. This was so boring!

“I think you would have done a good job, being a dad.” Alfred spoke softly, which was conversation level for most. Ivan shook his head as he finally merged onto a less congested highway. “I'm serious man! You gave me a room, and a job, though I have no idea why.” The honey blonde was determined to display his gratitude.

“Shut up. I did nothing.” Ivan dismissed, looking a little pink from blush. Poor fella couldn't seem to take a compliment worth a damn.

“Well, I'm real appreciative of the nothing you've offered... So. Whats the deal with these Edelsteins?”

Ivan looked relieved to change the subject. “The husband is Roderich, the wife is Elizabeta, and the son is Gilbert. They come from oil, so have little to no grasp of reality.”

“They sound like moronic snobs.” Alfred said bluntly.

“They are. That's exactly why you can't talk to the husband, he spooks very easy and doesn't trust anyone. He would consider you a peasant on your accent alone.” Ivan cautioned, seeming more sincere than insulting today.

That was _rude_ , Alfred thought privately. “The wife?”

“Oh speak with her all you like. She is, as they say, wine mom.”

Alfred laughed at this, certain it was a subtle joke. “Will do... Is she faithful or not? I can maybe flirt extra information out of her if we have to.” Ivan's faintly jovial expression darkened at the suggestion, then Alfred recalled his boss's tragic life. The ash blonde probably didn't think highly of cheaters. “Ah, kidding! Kidding! No flirting!”

Alfred had strictly stuck to the poorer areas of New York City. So when Ivan was about drive onto the Verrazano-Narrows bridge, the younger detective had to do a double take. The double suspension bridge had a breathtaking view, and legendary crossing toll of seventeen dollars. It connected to some of the most expensive mansions in New York, as well as very famous beach front.

“Staten Island? We're going to Staten island? _The_ Staten Island?” He asked, star struck.

“That's where Mister Edelstein lives.” Ivan replied simply.

“They got bazillion dollar houses there!”

“Multi-million dollar houses. Bazillion is not a real number... though it might as well be with these idiots.” The contempt Ivan held for the wealthy was surprising, carrying in his words.

“You really don't like these people... I thought you were wealthy?” Alfred asked, confused.

Ivan laughed from genuine entertainment. “No, no, _no_. I am not wealthy. I keep my head above water, and swim hard to do so. All my act is a front to reel in the big fish. You understand, yes?”

“I thought... You looked so well off. Your condo is so nice.”

“The lie of money attracts real money, Mister Jones. This very most important lesson.” Ivan bragged He was rather flattered at the mention of his colour matching and styling skills.

“Wow. You should have been an interior decorator instead.”

“Nyet, is shit money. Detective work is more fun.” Ivan surmised. They drove past increasingly larger buildings after crossing the long bridge, weaving into wealthy tree lined neighbourhoods. The luxury increased with the sizes of the homes, exponentially so. Soon they encountered a gated community entrance with a beautiful rod iron work. A guard sat in a booth to avoid the pouring rain, looking numb with boredom.

“Here for the Edelsteins.” Ivan reported out the window upon pulling up.

“Short or long term visit?”

“Short.”

The artful yet effective gate glided open, and they drove into the private community. Even this pitiful weather could not dim the glory of the sprawling properties inside. Roman columns and classic Colonials. Exotic Spanish rangers with award winning gardens. The beauties before Alfred's eyes wouldn't cease. They parked the car in from of a literal mansion, modern glass and classic stone. A fusion of perfectly trimmed orb shrubs and animal statues lined the side of the yard.

Parking proper, Ivan undid his seat belt and looked to his new employee. “Now Mister Jones, no talking to Roderich. He's our big ticket client.”

“No talking to Mr. Edelstein.” Alfred repeated, partially in shock by all the wealth around him.

“You have to stop gaping like that. You'll catch flies.”

“ _Gold plated flies_. Have you seen this place?”

Ivan chuckled, seeming to finally unwind after a month of looking emotionally constipated. He was worse than a shy cat. “Yes. But contain yourself. These people live to impress and mock. Be aloof, Mr. Jones.”

“Aloof. Cold. Asshole. Smug Jerk.” The younger detective said to himself out loud. Alfred took in a deep breath, then tented his fingers at the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Time to see some acting that deserves a damn Emmy.”

“Ready?” Ivan asked. He switched out his dusty old fedora for a newer classy one. Tucking one of those dumb silk ascots into his otherwise normal shirt, the ash blonde looked slightly ridiculous. Begrudgingly, the man looked really good in his rich people disguise.

“As I'll ever be.” Alfred left first, opening his umbrella as he entered the pouring rain.

They were greeted by a butler patiently waiting inside the mansion's open door. “Good evening Mr. Braginsky and Mister...?”

“Jones, he is my work associate.”

“Wonderful. I'll take your coats and lead you both to the parlour.” The butler replied, looking as bored as the gate guard earlier.

Alfred handed over his blazer while Ivan shed a decorative over coat. Beneath that he still had a vest, a office style shirt, gloves, and that ridiculous scarf thing. The man was the living incarnation of an onion, with layers and grumpiness beneath each other. His act was well crafted though.

This place was so unreasonable, they were expected to take their shoes off, and put a different pair on. “Master Roderich believes harsh materials will scuff his new zebra wood floors. You'll be required to wear these.”

Alfred was about to protest, but was shut down by Ivan's glare. “Very well.” the younger detective answered flatly, accepting the ugly pair of slippers. He detested being told what to do, a rebellious fire within. Alfred only tolerated Ivan's orders because the guy paid him. Beyond that, the Russian-American was clearly a thoughtful person, even if he buried it under rudeness. This Roderich guy was probably just a prick in comparison.

They walked through a grand golden foyer. Halls were studded with post modern art and music awards. Evidently, this guy was a musical genius, or maybe a record company owner. It was hard to tell what was earned achievements, and what was self induced praise.

The parlour was a room the size of Ivan's entire condominium. It was certainly nice and worth more than Alfred had ever earned. It was this exact reason that made the place almost uncomfortable. No man had the right to waste so much money in one room. Yet, here the detectives were, standing in the results of a thousand tears and work hours.

A brunet male, bedecked in more layers and nonsense than Ivan, was in a chaise lounge chair. Chatting on his phone, he caught the visitors in his eye. Upon hanging up, the rich man grinned wide at Ivan. Alfred was completely ignored, as expected. “Mister Braginsky, please sit. It's such a pleasure to see you.” The flirtatious words could not be mistaken for anything innocent, carrying a notable Germanic accent.

“Hello, Mister Edelstein.” Ivan replied tightly, not reacting as he looked ahead. The overbearing client looked ready to unwrap and eat Ivan like a snack. The morally rigid Russian-American was obviously very uncomfortable, but somehow acting completely neutral. The poor bastard was dealing well with personal space being psychically molested by his own customer.

“I'm glad you could come so quickly. My monstrous child is being very unreasonable. He's gone and run off. It's been eight days. The entire event has been so inconvenient. You must find him.”

Alfred already disliked the man. He was a mess of a human being in a gold wrapper. Pretending to take notes attentively, Alfred was really doodling Roderich's face getting cut off.

“To begin finding Gilbert, we'll have to search his room for clues. If we have your permission.” Ivan asked, voice unsteady. Roderich was now beside the detective, hand on one knee. Awkwardly, Ivan cleared his throat. A very tenacious Roderich ignored the social cue, giving his knee a squeeze. “What happened the day he disappeared?” The senior detective asked, shuffling away slightly.

“Of course, of course... He was going on about donating to a business, not that I could be bothered. I told him He was going to a social event with me and his mother. He said he already had plans. I informed him they were going to change, then he stomped off like a brat. After some work at the record company, and a round of practice with my tennis instructor...” Roderich smiled the barest amount at this, returning to sipping his wine as he talked. “It seemed Gilbert had vanished along with some family funds. He missed a wonderful wine tasting. It was truly tragic.”

“Thank you, where would Mrs. Edelstein be? I have some questions for her.” Ivan pressed on, wanting to leave the room.

“In the kitchen... Did you ever get my concert tickets Mr. Braginsky? You would be such a fine specimen to attend with.” Mr. Edelstein was now verging on a sexual assault charge with his advances, undressing Ivan with a predatory gaze.

“I donated them to the best fine arts institute I could find. Your contributions to enlightening society know no bounds sir.” Ivan replied evenly, now standing and retreating a few steps. Alfred couldn't imagine having as much tact. Roderich would have a great big punch in the face by now if Alfred was in charge.

With Ivan totally out of reach now, the blatantly horny noble seem to calm. It was apparently too much effort to get up and leave his plush furniture. “Yes of course. The greater good. Laurence, take these men to my wife. I have philosophical matters to ponder.” As the ridiculous man spoke, he topped up his large wine glass.

“Very good, Master Edelstein.” the butler replied. Leading them out of the room, loud classical music was soon playing from within. Ivan's controlled facade let loose a moment as they walked through chique halls of light and art. Ivan had clearly not enjoyed that encounter, disturbed and silent. Both detectives exchanged glances.

Alfred wanted to comfort the man, but knew this was a poor choice. It was obvious Ivan was not gay, or at least had issues. This in itself was unexpected, since Ivan became Alfred's sugar daddy overnight. Even the snarky compliments had a very homosexual vibe to them, given their increasing frequency. Yet here was solid proof the man was straighter than an arrow. You really couldn't judge a book by his possibly gay cover it seemed.

They arrived at a large kitchen of gleaming turquoise accents, silver, and white tile. A very distraught woman was in a corner, with diamond earrings and burgundy evening dress. She dabbed her eyes in such a way, to not smudge her TV worthy make up. Not surprisingly, she had a nearly empty glass of wine in the other hand. Alcoholism seemed rampant in the Edelstein mansion.

“Lady Edelstein, You have guests that wish to speak to you.” the butler reported dutifully.

The woman sniffled, dabbing her eyes some more. “Thank you Laurence. I will call if I require anything else.” She composed herself, tucking a few strands of wavy brown hair behind an ear. “Detective Braginsky. I'm so glad you could come on such short notice.” Mrs. Eldelstein greeted, her voice cracking slightly with emotion.

Ivan went to bow slightly as he had for Roderich, but the wife giggled. “No need for that nonsense. I know I'm not royalty, unlike dear Roddie. He is a good husband, if misguided.”

“Is there a reason he felt up my new boss like a christmas present?” Alfred asked suddenly. He was allowed to speak to her at least, and wasn't going to waste a moment on manners.

“Oh. Roddie has his favourites. His badminton friends, his private ski instructors, his... personal detectives. I don't much mind, it keeps him busy.” Elizabeta replied breezily, as if her husband wasn't a man thirsting for more than water.

“And none of this bothers you?” Alfred asked, disbelieving.

“No. I fully accepted my husband's unusual sexuality when I married him. He could suck off half of Europe, as long as he comes home clean and gives me the love I deserve. Did you go to that concert of his? The seats had a magnificent view.” The wife explained with ease.

“No.” Ivan answered, looking ready to flee this crazy place.

“A pity. Roddie was no doubt upset. Why do you have the pleasure of my company? Surely Roddie could have answered your questions.”

“What happened the day Gilbert disappeared?” Ivan asked, note pad and pen at the ready.

“Oh, Gillie wanted to donate to a start up company, and Roddie was not interested. They had a fight. It's not an unusual occurrence here. I decided to talk to Gillie, and he told me he was finished with this place. My boy, he can be rather devilish and dramatic. I've heard this before, you know how big boys are... I thought he wasn't serious. Then, the next day when I was having sangria brunch with my book club, he still hadn't come down from his room... He was... My baby was gone. We waited a few days but he didn't come back... and my baby could be...” Mrs. Edelstein broke into tears again.

Alfred decided to boldly offer a soothing hug. The grieving wife accepted it, sobbing grossly all over his shoulder. Most of her words were garbled nonsense. Ivan had an odd dark expression at this display, but quickly buried it. Probably displeasure at Alfred disobeying orders or something. “It'll be okay Mrs. Edelstein. We'll find your boy. Can you tell us any details about this business he spoke of?”

The woman separated and dabbed her eyes dry. “Yes, this... and something about a girl named... Maria. He didn't talk about her much. Admittedly I was distracted by work at the time.”

“Thank you. We'll give a quick search of your son's room for clues, then do our best to find him.” Alfred replied sincerely.

“I like this new servant you hired, Mr. Braginsky. He's just so cute.” The woman then grabbed Alfred and kissed him right on the lips. Alfred froze in rigid anger and disgust at this action. Torn between slapping her and vomiting, he clenched his mouth shut after. The woman only tittered at his reaction, obviously drunk.

Ivan pulled Alfred back to his side before the young man could deck her in the jaw. “Thank you. We must be going now.” As they fled into the hall, Alfred frantically tried to wipe his lips clean of that unholy glossy lipstick.

“What the fuck! What the fuck is wrong with rich people!?” Alfred whispered harshly.

Embarrassment of this place starting to affect him, Ivan looked a little pink under the collar himself. “Are you okay?” he asked in the same volume.

“No! I'm not okay! I'm, Jesus fuck, That was disgusting!” Spitting out the evil, wiping it away, but Alfred could still feel it! How revolting!

“Are... you gay Alfred?” Ivan asked softly, eyes bright with unknown expression.

“As gay as the day is long, I'm just... low key about it? That shit gets you beat up in the slums. I'm sorry you had to get all invaded like that in the parlour. It's pretty obvious you aren't gay. I mean, that guy was on you like jam on toast. That not cool.”

“Yes... Straight. I am that.” Ivan replied cryptically, now looking away.

“Now we got all that out of the way... Let's find more clues and get the fuck out of here.” Alfred replied, patting his boss on the shoulder.

Ivan managed a weak smile. “Yeah. This place makes everyone a special kind of crazy.”

Gilbert's room was everything you'd expect from an angry rebellious person. Heavy metal posters, anti-establishment logos, and laundry was everywhere. There was a computer in the corner, and a dozen photos of a blonde woman nailed to the wall. She looked like an exciting girl, hair stuck up in a roller coaster picture. Both men were taken aback when they spotted the far wall of the messy bedroom. It had 'RODERICH IS A GERMAN WHORE' painted in huge letters. The paint stunk badly, like organic rot.

“It's blood, probably animal blood.” Alfred muttered nasally, pinching his nose. 

“How would you know?” Ivan asked in surprise, turning to his newly hired partner.

“I worked in a butcher shop. I cut up a pile of pigs for one weekend, and there was so much guts in the back. I swear you could fill a small pool with it.”

Ivan cringed, going to the computer. “That's... I'm going to dig around in his hard drive. It shouldn't take long.”

“Okay. I'm going to look around.” Alfred pulled on latex gloves, knowing the bacterial dangers of a man's room. He eagerly set to work, lifting and looking under everything. The porn was pretty normal, and the journals in between the mattresses were expected. Strangely, this was the most alcohol free zone in the whole mansion so far.

“Welp. I'm gonna bet he's hiding with whoever this girlfriend is. There must be like thirty pictures of her here.” Alfred summarized, leaning over Ivan's shoulder to read the computer screen. “How'd you guess the password to get in?”

“I didn't. His computer is going to be a mess after I'm finished with it. I'm... You don't know computer things do you?” Ivan asked mid sentence, looking over his shoulder.

“I know _not_ to spill coke on the keyboard or you get really mad.”

Ivan rolled his eyes, but wasn't annoyed. He was more broody or fuming when he was actually irritated. “Well, in basic terms, I plugged this little device into a USB port.” He gestured to a device the size of a USB memory key. It was no bigger than Alfred's thumb. “It allows me full access his hard drive. Basically everything you ever do is saved there, and most people are too stupid to clear it. After, his computer might be very upset I'm hacking it. Not that I care. It's mostly pirated movies and pictures of a... Maria Kohler.”

“She is the girlfriend then.”

“Definitely. Most interesting, she used to be Mathias Kohler.” Ivan opened up a few Facebook pages. They all showed a clear transition of Mathias to Maria. The social site was still signed up as the missing Gilbert, along with another page from his email inbox. It showed electric receipts for hormone injections. “Evidently, he stole funds to make his boyfriend a girlfriend. They have dated at least five years. There is lots of evidence supporting them founding a company. 'Awesome Athletics' seems to be an extreme fitness trainer company. I wrote down the addresses of her house and the company.”

“How'd you get her address?” Alfred asked, still rather amazed by computers despite the current era. He was never allowed one as a child.

“All same, just more hacking.” Ivan replied proudly, clearly showing off in false modesty.

“Well, that info will help. I figure when we confront him, he'll be angry. His music is angry. He poetry is bad... and angry. He hates his stepdad more than anything in the world.”

Ivan swiveled in the desk chair, stopping to prop his head up with an open palm. “What of it?”

A plan of the most evil variant bloomed in Alfred's mind. It was perfect. It was genius, and it was going to make both detectives a lot of money. “Why don't we take advantage of it?”


	4. Between Storms

The lavish office was war and rivalry on the legal level. It was father against son, with the mostly sober Elizabeta watching passively. Mister Edelstein argued hotly with his step son Gilbert. Surprisingly, Gilbert was as pale as his pictures. No photo fixing had ever been in use. A genetic fluke, the male was a true albino, right down to his nearly red eyes. Like all pigment impaired people, he was damn near blind. Without his glasses, he was rather useless.

“You aren't stealing my damn fortune!” The father threatened.

“You never had right to it! All you do is sit on _my_ money or roll it back into fucking oil. Oil is not the future and I don't care what bullshit you experienced to believe that!” Gilbert shot right back.

Of course, this whole battle had been set up. Gilbert, in his sparkling new sports car, had been jokingly easy to find. He was hiding out at his girlfriend's apartment not far from central park, as expected. He was just as angry as Alfred imagined. The ghostly pale man of twenty three years was eager to get back at his step dad any way possible. Predictably, he offered to pay the detectives to end the investigation. Alfred had engineered a scheme to milk the opportunity.

He convinced Gilbert not to simply leave, but fight for what was rightly his. This sparked a flurry of demands as the two now fought in Ivan's office. No order was too ridiculous in the heat of the moment.

“Mr. Braginsky! You have to investigate my monstrous child's business and search it for fraud. The money he skimmed for his little wife was no doubt involved!” Mr. Edelstein spoke with pure venom.

“No! I'll pay more for you to look into how much he stole from my rightful inheritance!”

“You're just a miserable man-child! I paid for your flute lessons, gave you a free pass in Germany, and this is how you repay me!?”

“You're a pretentious moron! You don't even need glasses! You only wear them to look smart, so I guess that means you're a fucking idiot! I didn't want another credit card, I wanted support for my awesome ideas!” Gilbert yelled, looking flush with anger.

Ivan was blushing a little himself, in absolute lust with the stack of money on his desk. It only grew larger as the argument blew out of control. There had to be at least thirty thousand dollars already. Alfred didn't much care beyond his cut, lounging in his street disguise clothes. Skinny jeans and a New York Yankees hoodie, with a visible wallet chain. Alfred had engineered the look months ago to lull drug users and anxious teens into false ease.

At first this argument of spiralling chaos had been fun, but now Alfred was bored. Seated beside his boss, he elbowed the man. Face half hidden in a the tall collar of his iconic coat, Ivan was _impossible_ to read today. “What?” Ivan whispered.

“Let's wrap this up big guy. I want to go get an ice cream or something.”

Ivan nodded, seeming to have a death grip on his pen. “You can do it.” Alfred didn't really understand, until he saw the bulky man shifting in his seat. One of the eternal burdens of manhood was southerly intrusions in everyday situations. Awkward boners, to be put simply. Ivan was obviously hot and bothered by something quite random. It couldn't be the violence of family clashes, Ivan was a giant softy. It was probably a random picture or thought, firing fickle instinct.

“If we could all just sit and write down some sort of agree –” Alfred's extended diplomacy was short lived, cut off by yelling as Gilbert stormed out. Elizabeta, perhaps permanently relaxed or drunk, stood slowly.

“You get back here or I swear I'll cut off your credit accounts!” Roderick roared, chasing after him.

The brunette mother smiled softly, a serene maternal expression. “You solved the case in record time. I'm glad my baby is doing okay.” Elizabeta looked to the pile of money with a malaise only extreme wealth could induce. It was too much effort to move or function outside her gilded mansion cocoon. It was too tiring to accurately count her husband's errant tossed riches. Grabbing a stack or two of the paper money, she didn't bother with the rest. It was merely pocket change to her. Elizabeta signed the appropriate legal papers, making the case closed and non refundable.

“Just one more thing.” The woman stated. She gave Alfred's ass a healthy squeeze, then walked out with a victorious smirk.

It was a huge effort to not strike her in the face. Alfred shook with rage and silently swallowed his disgust. It took several minutes to calm down, but it was done. Women were so _gross_. Once more mostly mature and composed, the detective turned around. “Hey man, you ready to count our... oh. Right.”

Ivan was long gone. He probably vanished the very second he could, to deal with his 'problem' personally. It was actually kind of strange how much pent up sexual energy the guy had. He was a self proclaimed workaholic that really loved being a detective. What could possibly be so erotic at work? It was just papers and files. No, it had to be a person or a recent environmental change. The only new things to happen in this week was Alfred getting hired, and the secretary getting a new hair bow.

Was Ivan turned on by his secretary? No, that was weird and wrong. The secretary, his half-sister Natalya, was a totally cold bitch. Even without the incest factor, Ivan was definitely into something more welcoming than a grouchy reptile.

Ten minutes past, then twenty. Impatient, Alfred went into the welcoming area. There Natalya sat, being the perfect little secretary. Her nearly platinum hair was in a neat bow as she managed to type quickly with her long acrylic claws. It was a genuine mystery how women functioned with fake nails.

“Miss Arlovskaya, You gotta tell me. What's wrong with your boss?” Alfred asked.

“There is nothing wrong with my boss. He is a perfect employer and brother... that leaves too much garbage near my desk.” Natalya replied coolly, never ceasing her rapid typing.

“But, he's been acting really weird since I started working here full time.”

“Perhaps you are being annoying.” The secretary shut him down in a hurry.

Pride not actually wounded, Alfred huffed in false displeasure. “Why, I would guess you don't like me very much.”

“So perceptive.” she muttered, not one to hide her opinions.

“But why don't you like me? Why is Ivan being so weird? Is it because I'm gay and he's not comfortable with it?” Alfred went on, unafraid to share with her. She was technically far below him in occupational stature. Natalya had to deal with these random conversations whether she liked it or not.

Natalya stopped typing, and rubbed her temples. “Vanya is not homophobic.”

“But he said he was straight, back at the weirdo's house on Staten Island.”

“How are you a detective when you are this stupid.” She replied, going on to fully ignore him. Returning to typing up legal papers, it was clear she wanted to be left alone.

Ivan entered the space, looking more than a little flush. “Alfred. Stop pestering my sister. She is busy being productive.”

“But... She _started_ it.” Alfred whined.

“Go buy something pretty sestra, I am closing up early.” Ivan spoke to her with startling affection and warmth. A few hundred dollars was placed on her desk. He ruffled her hair gently, giving her a familial kiss on the forehead. For a second, Natalya looked joyous, like a happy girl on the summer breeze. It was unnatural, if sweet. Upon her happiness being seen, the vicious secretary gave Alfred a glare that would kill lesser men.

“Yes Vanya.” She replied. Her smart heels clacked on stone floor as she stood to clean up her space. Natalya was gone in a few minutes, taking her laptop and sour attitude with her. Without distraction, Ivan had nowhere else to direct his attention.

“I was extremely unprofessional, Mister Jones.” The ash blond spoke as if he was a criminal.

“Dude, you can relax. Weird shit happens. Besides, I want to talk about our undercover gig. I already have a target location and disguises. They're in my car.”

Ivan's face crinkled in displeasure at the mention of the rusty corolla. “That car needs to be crushed into a tiny cube.”

“Oh, and you're just going to drive me around forever?” Alfred joked lightly.

Ivan didn't seem to think it was a joke. “If I must. That rolling rust bucket smells of nothing but fear and Cheetos. Human beings should not be allowed to live in such conditions.”

Well, that was unexpected. Alfred didn't know the guy would extend himself so far over such petty matters. The young detective flirted, deciding to test his employer for fun. “I swear, you must like me or something. Mister straight and narrow.”

Ivan changed colours a little, before settling on a scowl. “You are mistaken. I am purely concerned about my business's image... but my sister is a terrible gossip within the family. If you wanted to discuss sensitive material, now would be the time.”

“Right. I wanna hit up this place called 'Dark Desires'. It's a dungeon bar, like... BDSM things.” Alfred went on, only to get a confused blink in response. “You know, role playing and ropes and... You have no idea do you?”

“Dungeon... bar?” Ivan asked curiously.

“Oh my god. This undercover thing is not going to work.” Alfred groaned, retreating to his desk. He sat in the office chair. Hiding his face in his hands, Alfred peeked over the tops of his fists.

“Nyet, I will do this undercover thing. I am great detective and actor. A dungeon bar is like... dungeons and dragons with drinking, right?” Oh poor Ivan, innocent soul. Standing with arms akimbo, the Russian-American was determined to participate.

“No. No, It's... If Mr. Edelstein made you uncomfortable, this place will make you crawl out a window. It can get really weird. Like, _super_ gay.” Alfred's warning finally seemed to sink in.

Ivan's certainty wilted as he spoke. “Ah... Why do we have to visit this place?”

Alfred pushed forward a few papers in loose folder form. “Well. A lot of the leads you ignored, they lead to this 'dark desire' place. It seems Wang Yao went there after work often. It was often enough, that he was seen there the day he was murdered. We are going to case the goddamn shit out of this place. Talk to everyone. Retrieve any information we can get.”

Ivan was rather abashed, being reminded yet again that he failed to recognize his dead friend's failings. “Then we should clean up at the condo, and we can review our cover stories for tomorrow. It's been a long day.”

“Agreed.” Alfred replied. With Ivan's surprising cultural virginity, they would be lucky to last at least thirty minutes at the targeted bar. Still, The honey blonde was grateful Ivan wanted to come at all. Alfred couldn't count the number of times he felt unsafe and alone while working before. Maybe there was something to all this partner work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments/kudos! They feed my soul!


	5. Rumble and Rock

Alfred was starting to grasp the routine of Ivan's condo life. It had been four days since he moved in properly and had the old corolla cleaned. Ivan would head home and kick off his shoes. He would toss off most things actually. That heavy coat, his scarf, his lesser layers. Beneath it all was a simple man in a white undershirt and slacks.

It wasn't the understated grace of a casual Ivan that was surprising. It was the old scars on his arms and upper body. Cigarette burn marks speckled his back, and his neck a mess. No wonder the guy wore scarves.

When unobserved, Ivan walked with a tired gait. It was like he had walked a million steps before and his feet were done in. It wouldn't a be surprise if his police career had inflicted this. The most intriguing thing was the core of how Ivan relaxed. He would sit out on his tiny balcony in silken robes and boxers. Smoking a cigarette, Judy Garland of all things would be playing loudly throughout the condominium.

By all counts, Alfred had been absolutely sure Ivan was gay. Up until the incident on Staten Island, that is. The man seemed so disgusted by Roderich in every way. The tall detective outright said he was straight on two occasions now. As much as the detectives seemed to irritate each other, Alfred was beginning to enjoy Ivan's company. It was nice have a case busting partner after all.

So why did Alfred's chest feel so empty at the discovery of Ivan's orientation? It was the young detective's own naivety he supposed. It was already unbelievable that his direct business rival gave him a job and a room to live in. The chances that Alfred's provider was also fit and fantastically gay would be impossible.

Alfred set the heavy thoughts aside as he continued to wiggle into his undercover costume. Puffing from the effort, he sat on the bed in his room. Sure enough, Ivan was well into his relaxing routine. Vintage black and white television shows were playing in the living room. Ivan's loony laugh could be heard through the wall. No doubt he was wearing some flamboyant robe of peacocks or something. Alfred was so damn confused by these mixed signals.

Finally tugging on the tight slutty outfit, Alfred peeked his head out the door. Ivan was sipping a glass of whisky, chuckling while in a lotus flower spotted number. “Ivan? I got the disguise on. You ready for this level of amazing?”

“We'll see about amazing, Mister Jones.” Ivan scoffed, turning down the television set volume.

“Tada!” Alfred revealed, stepping out in full glory. He wore long black stripper boots, lace gloves to match. There was shiny black booty shorts that would probably need to be cut off. A netting shirt and black feather boa tied the look together.

Ivan gaped, nearly dropping his drink. He set the glass down, absolutely flustered. “No.”

“No, no one else looks as good as me?” Alfred replied with a cheeky grin.

“No. You aren't wearing that slutty outfit.”

“You legally agreed to this.”

“How!?” Ivan demanded.

“You signed this little legal thing saying you would do anything to help the investigation. Don't you want to avenge Yao's death?” Alfred taunted, dangling the contract in front of Ivan. He snatched it back when Ivan began to stand and pursue it.

“Tear that paper up, Alfred. I am not wearing slutty things and neither are you.”

Alfred giggled. “You thought... You are just too precious. I'm going to do all the slutty stuff. You just have to look gruff and emotionally constipated. So, normal behaviour.”

“I am not emotionally constipated.” Ivan grumbled. He resumed being a couch potato with his whisky.

“You are! You're pouting right now! You haven't taken an emotional dump in years.”

Ivan silenced, pouting and grumpy. “Fine. I'll be grouchy. What is my back story?”

“Easy, you're my sugar daddy pimp, and I'm your crazy sex slave.” Alfred informed simply, sitting next to Ivan.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I'm not doing this.” Ivan repeated dryly.

“Where do you think we're going Ivan? How do you think undercover stuff works? There's an entire filthy world out there, and I've had to walk through all of it. The least you can do is watch my back as I do my thing.” Alfred didn't mean to sound so angry, so bitter. It just leaked out the edges of his sunny personality sometimes.

Ivan's childish moment faded to one of stone cold seriousness. He looked Alfred dead in the eye. It was an electric moment that froze Alfred to the couch he sat on. “I have your back, Mister Jones. You don't need to worry.”

What was this magical moment, and why did it make Alfred's heart flutter? “You can call me Alfred.” the young man said softly, unable to look away.

“Okay... Alfred.” Ivan whispered. Finally he looked away and swallowed, seeming to have lost his voice. “Um... Tea. Yes.” he mumbled gruffly.

“Yes. Tea. I'll take a coffee.” Alfred was feeling a little faint himself.

The atmosphere felt weirdly charged for a moment, and neither man knew how to continue. This made it even more unexpected when Ivan decided to sit next to Alfred again. They were so close their legs almost touched. Ivan couldn't seem to look away from Alfred's stripper costume at all, cheeks rosy. It was then that Ivan silently shifted so he was lounging on the couch, tugging Alfred into a full on cuddle.

Alfred's heart raced as he rested his head on Ivan's shoulder. With no meet ups or relationships for the past year, the sensations was welcome. Both men's arms slowly wrapped around each other. Any quick movements were liable to shatter this moment to pieces. Alfred closed his eyes and squeezed just a little. Conformed to Ivan's torso like this, there was nothing but a silky housecoat between their bare skin. Ivan was so warm and soft. He was a big man, little fluffs of hair felt through the thin opening of the robe.

The kettle whistled, snapping them both out of their spell. Ivan got up again, looking dazed and flush. Alfred was a little dizzy himself, confused when their pleasant cuddle was cut short. It took a minute to collect his scattered mind, and sit up properly.

Ivan set Alfred's coffee on the table after taking several minutes in the kitchen. The man refused to get a normal coffee maker, insisting on doing everything himself. From boiling the water to crushing the coffee beans, Ivan seemed intent on making life more difficult. “Black with one sugar.” The man informed.

The coffee, while hot, was absolutely perfect. Alfred blew on it between sips. “So. You just gotta look tough. The types of folks we're going to see there are into pain. Anyone with a collar or a necklace on, you don't even have to talk to really.”

“Why?” Ivan asked innocently. Poor sweet onion of a man, unknown to the sexual mysteries of the world.

“Well, you see... When two people... Ugh, why am I telling you these things? Wikipedia is going to break your heart. Not me.” Alfred stood to get his phone, shedding the festive feather boa as he went along. Turning around, he nearly bumped into Ivan and startled.

“I got you something nice to cover up with.” The man offered sincerely, one of his silly robes in hand. It was spangled with Russian, or as Alfred saw it, American coloured stars. Alfred accepted the robe silently, strangely shy. He wasn't supposed to be shy, He was Alfred Foster Jones, hero detective!

Still the fabric was so smooth and cool to the touch, like a higher quality nylon. Pulling off the gloves and stripper boots, Alfred decided to wear it. It was long on Alfred's frame, fluttering with his animated movements. “This is so comfortable! And it swishes when I move!” He cheered in delight.

“Yes. It's why I have so many. They're so hard to find in my size as well. So I take any pattern they come in.” Ivan explained, smiling shyly.

“That explains all the flower patterned ones.” Alfred replied, distracted by making the robe flutter.

“I... like the flowery ones.” Ivan muttered, barely heard.

The younger detective paused, once more confused. The clashing of words, body signals, and choices from Ivan was driving him crazy lately. Alfred could swear he was being flirted with, but then he wasn't. Ivan would be pants shitting levels of intimidation to a suspect, then be this nearly _delicate_ figure listening to Judy Garland. Alfred didn't know whether to give the man space, or sexually attack him and feed him cupcakes after. All such a headache!

“Well I think they're nice too.” Alfred somewhat lied, trying to see if he could pry the real Ivan Braginsky out.

His boss looked up with the uncertainty of a scared chil. “Really?”

Alfred sat next to him. “Totally.”

“Are we friends Alfred?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“That's... That's so good to hear. I have to admit something to you.”

Alfred nodded, bracing for the obvious. That Ivan was gay, and he totally loved Alfred. That he was going to feed Alfred chocolates, fanning him with a comically large palm fan.

“Wang Yao and I... weren't really friends. We never hung out. He didn't like any of the things I liked. We were actually in a rough patch the day before he disappeared. I didn't want to say anything to you earlier, so that it wouldn't implicate me. But... I didn't know how to say all that, and not look guilty.”

It wasn't a confession of love and chocolates, but it was just as interesting. “Why were you two at odds before he vanished?”

“He wanted to do dirty work, working for the big families. They pay more, but... you don't always know who's toes you're stepping on. Who you could be hurting, you know?”

Alfred hummed in understanding, answering “You wanted to stick with smaller clean jobs, and he didn't like it.”

Ivan stared into his now empty whisky glass, swishing the whisky stones around. “Something like that. He wanted his name on the business as well. But I hired him after the business was founded, so I refused. He had... words to say about that. I gave him a few days to cool off, but he never came back. They... they found his hand when it washed up from the Bronx river a week later. The cops thought it was dead for a few days.” Ivan sniffled slightly, putting his glass down. “I didn't mean to end things like that. I wanted us to be friends.”

“Did they find the rest of his body?” Alfred asked, giving his boss a comforting back pat.

“No... but hands don't pop off everyday. One of the families must have got to him. Maybe he pissed off his gambling friends. It's been four months and I don't know what happened.” The emotional distress in Ivan's words were concerning. It was clear the man had formed a strong one-sided bond with his ex-partner.

“We're going to case this bar, and I know we'll find a lead.” Alfred promised, resuming sipping his coffee.

Ivan didn't comment, resuming being glum. They decided to blow time watching old television shows together, and practising lines for inside the bar. After a modest dinner of fried collared greens and mackerel, the duo got dressed for the evening. Alfred managed to make his outfit even more sexual by ripping the net shirt a little. Alfred also added a collar of ownership complete with a metal lock. Ivan wore a tailored suit of solid black with leather gloves. He actually looked quite stunning.

“Where are you possibly going to find a spot for a recording device?” Ivan scoffed, very displeased with Alfred's disguise.

“The wig liner, you silly goof.” Alfred replied from the bathroom, adjusting his brown wig and edgy makeup.

“How do you know how to use women's make up?”

“I used to work at Sears.”

Ivan raised a brow at this, but said nothing.

“Okay, let's party.” Alfred announced, pulling his stripper boots on. He had enough experience in the cursed things, but it didn't mean they were comfortable. Ivan seemed to change colours a little, but went along with everything. The drive to the location was quiet as expected.

“You used to work at sears, a butcher shop, a farm... you are an curious person, Alfred.” Ivan commented as he parked.

“I've been lots of places, done lots of things.” Alfred replied vaguely, hoping the man wouldn't press for details. The honey blonde's life was far from a glamorous one, riddled with hardships. Thankfully, Ivan was not as curious today.

The second Ivan stepped out of his car, he spotted a couple walking in the unassuming bar entrance. One was in a sexy dog costume with a spiked collar on his neck. He was let along by a leather clad dominatrix with a crop whip. “I can't do this. I can't.” He objected, looking a little pale.

“So. You're afraid.” Alfred challenged, targeting the man's ego.

“No. I am never afraid. I am merely concerned with... sanitation of this place.” Ivan was such a pathetic liar tonight. 'Don't make me go in there' might as well been written on his face with a marker.

“I'll stay in sight range the whole time, okay? If a crazy bitch scares you, you tell her she's a piece of human garbage and come over. These folks love that stuff.” Alfred soothed, giving Ivan a wink.

Ivan closed the door and walked around, letting out Alfred like they rehearsed. “Be a good boy.” Ivan spoke in wobbly tones, about as intimidating as a toddler.

Oh wow. This entire operation was already in the shitter. Still, Alfred didn't grease himself into these short shorts for nothing. “Cover my back, I'm going to schmooze some idiots. Remember, look bad ass.”

“Bad ass.” Ivan repeated weakly, leading the way. A goon by the door gave Ivan a scrutinizing glare. Ivan returned it, a master of resting bitch face. The guard let them pass, resuming his vigil. Ivan's bravery died after he walk in, eyes going wide at the atrocities visible throughout the room.

Basal pulsing music was on low volume throughout the building, creating a nearly tribal atmosphere. Heavy blacks and reds were draped off the walls. Erotic art of angels hung in key locations, almost ironic in placement. Paintings weren't the only things hanging. Several women were red faced and huffing in pleasure as they were strung from the ceiling by ropes. They were naked as they they were born, being whipped lightly by a gang of people with masks. A broody dominatrix with an employee tag on her corset paced the floor, supervising things. It seemed she was in charge of the hanging girls.

“What... what... I don't know what to do.” Ivan whispered, shocked by all of this. Alfred rolled his eyes, knowing this moment would come. He stepped in front of his supposed 'master', putting both hands on the bulky man's shoulders.

“You are not in a weird bar with a friend.”

“I am not?”

“You are a cool Russian cop, busting this place for the man that killed your partner. You are a law busting machine. You are Ivan fuckin' Braginsky.” Alfred said with confidence. This finally seemed to bring the big lug back to his usual mode of operations.

“I will _destroy_ this place.” Ivan said coolly, only glancing at Alfred once more for reassurance.

“You gotta stay in sight range of me, okay?” Alfred repeated cautiously.

That same strength from before, it returned full force. From Ivan's voice alone, Alfred knew he was going to be okay. “I'm not going to let you get hurt.” Ivan said, violet eyes steely. Those soothing words were both cold and warm, like hardened metal. That promise could cut down anything like a sword.

A barest shiver ran through Alfred, recognition of something primal. Despite Ivan claiming to be straight, he might as well have been the gay whisperer. It took tremendous effort not to curl up in Ivan's arms and purr like a cat. “I'm... I'm gonna start over by those hanging girls.” Alfred stammered, failing to calm his beating heart.

“I'll start at the far end of the bar. If we sweep clockwise, We'll have the site cleared in no time.” Ivan agreed, already honing in on an interrogation victim nearby.

Alfred nodded numbly, heading to the bathroom instead. Slashing cold water on his face, Alfred instantly remembered he had whorish make up on. He cursed and dabbed his face dry. Fantastic, now it looked like he'd been crying forever. The previously sexy raccoon eye thing going on was almost a streaky mess. Oh well, at least Alfred could fake being a sad submissive. A beefy man in an army coloured tank top walked into the bathroom, absolutely oozing trademark dominance. He spotted Alfred, apparently vulnerable with tears and a ruined shirt.

“Hey. What happened to you?” The guy took control of the situation without asking, as expected.

Alfred took full advantage of this miscommunication. “I was supposed to meet a guy here, he said... I'm sorry... I'm just so stupid. He said he loved me, but he never showed up.” He whimpered, assuming a defeated posture.

“Oh darlin', let me see who it is. I betcha he's in one of the orgy rooms.” the guy offered in clear southern American twang. It wasn't far off from Alfred's own accent.

Alfred showed the man a photo of Wang Yao stolen from Ivan's condo. There was a lot of them around, so the boss would be none the wiser. The man saw the picture then shook his head. “Yeah, he's no good.”

“But... He said he loved me.” Alfred sniffled, acting for all he was worth.

“He doesn't treat his pets well. You best look for a new master.” The man was clear the second time, an edge to his warning. He then proceeded to a stall to do whatever he came in for. Alfred left the bathroom, intrigued.

It seemed Wang Yao was even farther from Ivan's saintly descriptions than previously believed. Using the same sob story on the rest of the people here, all the regulars seemed to know who Yao was. They all gave the same dire message. Ivan's former partner could not be trusted. Alfred met up with Ivan at the bar, who was currently terrorizing a drunk customer. Upon seeing Alfred, Ivan smiled and tossed the stranger aside. The drunk fled, muttering something about 'crazy goddamn Russians'.

“How is it going Alfred?” Ivan asked, having already forgotten their code names and lines. One of many reasons why he was the worst undercover investigator Alfred had ever seen. The ash blonde even acted like a cop, using police jargon and taking notes in his little memo pad.

Alfred wasn't surprised in the slightest, dropping his own pretenses. “Good. I got an address and some names.”

“I have two addresses, and I made a man piss himself. A few people made weird faces as they watched me do so. I don't really know why.” Ivan replied, truly without knowledge of the perverse.

“Who's left?” 

“That man, he won't listen to me and he doesn't scare easy.” Ivan noted, gesturing to a broody fellow in the corner. The stranger was an iconic hardened criminal in terms of appearance.

“I'll flirt it out of him. Gotta have a gentle touch too.” Alfred winked at Ivan, then sauntered over to the stranger.

“You lookin' fine.” the scarred man flirted roughly, voice as sketchy as his appearance.

“I'm just a fallen angel.” Alfred replied sweetly, his southern accent thick.

“You should fall on my lap, I'll treat you good.”

Internally, Alfred to slap the guy. Instead he batted his false eyelashes demurely and traced a painted fingernail up the target's arm. “I could, but I want to know something.”

“What?” the man asked breathlessly, already entranced.

Rather suddenly, Alfred straddled the man, pressing close. The stranger's cock could be felt hard as a rock through his black jeans. The things Alfred was willing to do for leads revolted even him sometimes. “Who is this man?” Alfred whispered with lust, flashing the picture of Wang Yao.

“He goes by Chan with the dungeon girls. No one's seen him in months.” The guy confessed instantly.

“Is that all?” Alfred ground his hips down as he talked, making the man groan a little.

“F-f-fuck! He's... He's fuckin' crazy. He likes blow and...” The man grabbed at Alfred's shortest of shorts, tugging on them slightly. “Chan wouldn't stop using... scared the girls.”

“Thanks hot stuff.” Alfred purred, about to get up. The questionable man beneath him growled and grabbed Alfred by the slave collar.

“Where do you think you're going bitch? I haven't had my fun yet.” The assured way the stranger spoke was a threat, as real as the choking grip on the collar. Alfred panicked, a small terrified noise wheezing out of him. “I-i-van.” Alfred whimpered, freezing up on the spot from terror. He was in trouble with someone stronger than him, a real physical danger. He couldn't breathe very well as he trembled, possessed.

Help wasn't expected to arrive so fast!

Ivan was there instantly, dark fury in his eyes. The hand partially choking Alfred was wrenched free into a bone snapping arm bar that nearly dragged the stranger out of his chair. The aggressive male wailed in pain as he sunk to the floor. Ivan then kicked the guy over and over, cursing profusely in presumed Russian. With that, a still shocked Alfred was scooped up and carried out bridal style. Alfred shivered and clung to his protector, now cold in his stripper clothes.

The drive home was terrible. There was a permanent aura of anger radiating off Ivan. He looked ready to murder, gripping the steering like it was going to be ripped off. Alfred didn't know to say, ashamed at his own mind. He had locked up uselessly under threat, like a _child_.

It wasn't until they entered the condo that Ivan finally talked. He spoke like thunder, rattling Alfred to his scared bones. “What the hell were you thinking!? Why the hell did you do that? You can't just lap dance weirdos in bars and expect to get away with it! It's amoral, and disgusting!”

Alfred crumpled further upon himself, hiding behind a pillow on the couch. With a frightened glance of glassy eyes, the honey blonde finally spoke. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry.” he muttered, a few tears starting to escape.

At this pitiful sight, Ivan's stormy temper deflated to concern. “Don't... don't cry.”

“I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a whore. I only wanted to get more leads. I only... I only wanted to help.” Alfred began to sob briefly, muffling it with the hand beaded pillow.

Ivan sat beside Alfred and reached out, only for the younger detective to flinch at the approach. Ivan hesitated, then slid closer. “I scared you. I scare everyone.”

“You didn't. It's... old stuff.” Alfred mumbled, clutching the pillow.

“Do you want to tell me?”

Alfred shook his head. “You'd respect me less if you heard the whole story.”

“I wouldn't. I'm defending Yao, and apparently he's a woman beating gambler addicted to cocaine.” Ivan pointed out, bemused by his own behaviour.

“I'm surprised you still defend him.”

“He was a brilliant detective, and a natural genius. For all his social failings, he was once an asset to the business.” Ivan stated proudly.

Alfred rolled his eyes, starting to cheer up. “You're a loyal one, huh.”

Ivan elbowed Alfred, the first real attempt at being playful. “I'm allowed to have good traits. Unlike you, missing the ash tray. Leaving all the dishes on the table.

“Only because you cooked so much food when I moved in. You act like I was starving before.” Alfred teased, daring to press a little closer.

“You were living in a car. Starving is safe to be assumed.”

Alfred chuckled, then leaned against Ivan. The touch was nice, making the last of Alfred's jitters and tears fade. Ivan moved his arm, resting a hand on Alfred's now relaxed knee. The soft rub of his thumb was pleasant and soothing. “Thanks for saving me.” the younger man murmured. “I guess it pays to run with back up, huh.”

Ivan nodded, looking very happy. It was a welcome, if uncommon, expression to see. Cautiously Alfred overlapped Ivan's hand with his own. When there was no negative reaction, Alfred hid a grin in Ivan's side. The man was about as straight as a curly straw, and Alfred was gonna prove it!


	6. The Silence After

Wang Yao's hand was discovered when it washed up on Orchard beach. It had been sheered off with great force, the carpal bones of the wrist shattered. The police assumed a machine shop was responsible. Only those places hosted tools powerful enough to pulverize a wrist in two. The photos of the gross hand didn't get any better each time they were viewed.

Alfred was only looking at the cold case again because of recent events. Another body had appeared, heavily decomposed in a net bag. A local fisherman from Pelham Bay discovered the dead corpse when it caught on their boat anchor.

The newly discovered corpse had been sheered neatly into thirteen pieces along major joints. It was identical to how Wang Yao's hand was severed. More alarming, the body from Pelham Bay was at least two months old. Not much else was discernible from what Ivan's police connections had told him. The fish and water born microbes had done too much damage.

The media was in a frenzy already, despite the cops fending them off all week. The 'Bronx River Butcher' was already the darling of late night news, with international channels beginning to catch on. Ivan's TV was currently tuned into such channels.

Alfred was bundled under blankets on the couch, soaking in any scrap of the 'Bronx River Butcher' he could find. Ivan stood in front of the wall mounted screen, arms crossed. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Working on the case. Unlike you.” Alfred accused, voice nasal and thick with illness.

“You are sick. You should be healing and resting.” The larger man nagged, taking Alfred's case files off the coffee table. One of Ivan's 'I Dream of Genie' episodes was set to play, officially ending any chance of watching the news. “I think you need another blanket.” Ivan thought out loud.

“Nooo, I'm not cold.” Alfred whined, wiggling in protest from his rather thick blanket prison.

Ivan returned with another goddamn blanket and that terrible cold medicine. “You're shivering, so you're cold.” Alfred sneezed between vocal complaints as he was force fed medicine. Weakened and tired from his cold, he only glared at Ivan after. 

“You know what you look like?” Ivan prompted, dragging a constrained Alfred into his arms like a teddy bear.

“Cute?” Alfred replied hopefully. He was forever thirsty for attention.

“You look like a caterpillar.” Ivan teased.

“A cute caterpillar?”

“No. An ugly one.” Ivan sneered jokingly, nuzzling Alfred's hair.

“You jerk! I'm cute! Acknowledge my cuteness!” Trying to escape blanket bindings, the sick blond only managed to exhaust himself again. Ivan seemed content to squeeze and hug his captive all morning. Alfred was more than willing to endure it. Fate was hellbent on them not having such precious quality time. Several knocks on the front were heard, forcing Ivan to move.

Alfred was released, while his caretaker stood to investigate. Throwing off a few blankets, Alfred turned the news back on. He listened eagerly, hoping more clues would jump out at him. Who was the Bronx River Butcher? Why chop victims up with a hydraulic press? Why dump bodies in one place and risk getting caught?

“Ooh that looks so gruesome!” A very feminine voice fretted, unknown to Alfred's ears. He sat up in curiosity. There was a rather voluptuous woman with hair the same colour as Ivan at the door. Her hair was in a practical bob, less shaggy and unattended than Ivan's own style. She too had a very eastern European accent. Alfred had already combed through the entire condo, reading Ivan's personal notes. He knew this was the older sister, Ekaterina, or 'Katya' as Ivan seemed to prefer in his writings. 

He waved, and a very enthusiastic Katya came over. “Oh, you are sick! Vanya! Is this your new detective friend? Natalya told me all about you getting a new playmate, but I didn't know he was sick!”

“He is not a _playmate_. We are solving crimes together and looking for Wang's killer.” Ivan defended himself in flustered fashion. He was very much the child in this conversation.

Equally as mature as a child, Alfred snickered at the name 'Wang'. Ivan narrowed his eyes at Alfred but said nothing. Katya was very much a mother hen type, proceeding to put all the blankets back on and test for fever.

“He needs medicine.” the older sister ordered.

“No more medicine, please.” Alfred groaned, trapped again.

Ivan stormed over in a possessive huff. He wedged himself between his older biological sister and a sneezing Alfred. “He's already been given medicine, and food, and attention. I am taking care og him myself.”

Natalya raised a brow in the background as her bustier sister took a step back. “Attention? What do you mean?” the older sibling asked, clearly surprised.

“I am keeping him company, so he's not bored. We are friends after all. That is what friends do.” Ivan stated proudly. He treated the word 'friend' like it was a high ranking title or award.

There was a pause between the two sisters as they looked at each other. Natalya shrugged. “That is very sweet of you, but wouldn't you do this at Alfred's place?” Katya asked, sounding strangely cautious.

Ivan faltered and looked to Alfred, eyes bright with enigmatic feeling. Without a thought, Ivan let Alfred rest his head on those muscular thighs. Combing fingers through Alfred's sleep mussed hair, the older detective finally spoke. “He lives here. I invited him.”

“Really?” Natalya finally spoke up, just as surprised as Katya was.

“Yes, _really_. He was having financial trouble, and I wanted to help.” Ivan retorted, just as snarky as his younger half sister.

The awkwardness of this revelation was short lived. “That's so generous of you! Here we though you weren't coming into work because something horrible happened.” Katya praised, taking all of this news in stride.

Ivan turned off the graphic news cast, wearing what Alfred now knew was false concern. “Something horrible? I only took three days off.”

“That's the point Vanya. You never take days off.” Natalya pointed out flatly. She was currently digging through Ivan's open concept kitchen without permission. “Where is your icing sugar? I need it.”

“Alfred _stole_ it.” Ivan grumbled.

“I didn't steal it. I used it as fake cocaine. There's a difference!”

“You snorted icing sugar?” Katya asked in disbelief, taking a seat in Ivan's plush reading chair.

Alfred shook his head after a brief laugh. “No, no. I put the icing sugar in little dime bags and tricked addicts into giving me information with it. It was really effective.”

“... and misleading.” Ivan complained.

“They're addicts Ivan. They've already thrown their lives away.”

“This is true.”

The sisters merely listened to this exchange like it was the fourth wonder of the world. It was obvious from this reaction that Ivan's behaviour was not their perception of normal. Alfred was actually intensely curious about his bosses life, but the man never spoke of private thoughts or the past.

“I have a heavy box I need help with in Katya's car.” Natalya said suddenly.

Katya twiddled her thumbs innocently, then looked to her younger brother. “Maybe you could help her with it.”

Ivan clearly enjoyed being seen as the strong one in the family, smirking in hubris. “Of course. I will get a shirt and shoes on.”

The minute Ivan had a shirt on instead of a robe, he was out the door. Immediately Katya's jolly persona dropped. It was a trick Ivan seemed to have learned from her, but in reverse. His joy and tentative personality was locked within like a vault. She locked eyes with Alfred like a protective mother bear, another trick Ivan likely picked up.

“You better not be taking advantage of my little brother.” She said, her innate softness only making the threat slightly more palatable. Beneath, there was still clear danger in her accented words.

“I won't, but I need you to answer something.” Alfred replied just as boldly.

“What?”

“Ivan's gay, isn't he?”

The woman blanched, looked away, then balled her fists. It was a heavy topic it seemed. Eventually she had an answer, however unexpected. “By the legal codes and mental health categorizations of the republic of Russia, my brother is a healthy heterosexual male. Nothing more.”

“What... what does that even mean?”

“It means he's a unique person loved by his family.”

“Does he want to fuck guys or not?”

At this brusque comment, she put her face in her palms. “Your detective skills do not extend outside American borders, do they.”

“No. Just tell me already!”

The women spoke with sorrow, like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “In Russia, being homosexual is considered a mental disorder. Sometimes it's a crime.”

This information stunned Alfred. He had certainly grown up in the age where being openly gay was a professional challenge. Never had his sexual orientation been considered an illness or a crime. The honey blonde couldn't even imagine living life in a government state where him being in love was illegal. “You mean, like... going to jail? For being gay?”

Katya nodded silently, her ash blonde locks bobbing from the motion slightly.

“But... Ivan was a cop. He upheld those crazy laws.”

“Ivan is legally not gay. None of this relates to him. Even if it did, _which it wouldn't_ , there would be no public evidence to suggest as such.” It wasn't the words that bothered Alfred, but the way in which the sister spoke. She said them with a tired yet defensive anger, like a mother uttering the phrases a thousand times. Each time retaining it's own genuine intention, hidden in subtext.

It occurred to Alfred rather brilliantly what was going on. The sisters were protecting Ivan. Perhaps they had always protected him, for years upon years. Ivan himself dodged the questions like a professional, even resorted to frequent topic changes. Alfred agreed with the lie, just to test a reaction. “So, obviously I was mistaken. He's definitely not gay.”

“Yes. You understand. He's a very lawful person.” Katya looked relieved at hearing this, shoulder dropping from released tension.

“And if he was gay. There would be no evidence of it anyway.”

“That's right. If my Vanya trusts you enough to rent a room to you, I stand by his judgments until you prove to be untrustworthy.” Her intentional glances to Ivan's bedroom were a clear enough signal. She wasn't an idiot. She was painfully aware her little brother was gayer than the day was long. As long as it stayed in the bedroom, she really didn't care anyway.

Alfred had already been living at Ivan's place for a month and a half, and there was evidence of it everywhere. Pictures of then sitting together at the beach. Little personal knickknacks were beginning to collect on the living room book shelf. Even shared grocery lists scattered with mixed writing were stuck to the fridge. Ivan was becoming completely attached, and everyone knew it except him.

The moment was broken after a long time, but the understanding remained. Ivan entered the condo, carrying a small box. He was in conversation with his little sister, whom followed behind. “I don't see why I had to carry this, Natasha. It's not even heavy. Big sister could have done it.”

“Katya is a elegant lady, she shouldn't have to carry things. And my nails got painted, so I don't want them wrecked.” Natalya went on, one of the more dominant personalities in the room.

“You mean your claws.” Alfred joked in his wheezing sick voice, unafraid of her. He felt comfortable enough with Natalya, after being in the office almost two and half months.

“You wouldn't understand nail art. You are too crude to read a room, let alone a book.” Her comment wasn't all that publicly scathing anymore. The acidic secretary had spat worse on lunch breaks. That was when Alfred would ask her for crossword clues. Inevitably, she always gave them. After all, Natalya was the most perfect secretary, if the most bitter human being at the same time.

“I wouldn't need to read. I just need to see what they painted on your big ol' claws each week. I could use it like a miniature newspaper.”

“Why can't you curl up and die?” 

“Because I'm a precious resource. Look at my face. It's _art_.” Alfred enjoyed getting under her skin like this for one reason alone.

Ivan snickered from the kitchen, unable to keep a straight face. “Give up sestra. It is impossible to crush his ego.” He looked to Alfred with a happy smile as he said this.

“I brought a get well package, thinking you were dying... But we can still use some of it on your sick roommate.” Katya offered. There was a crinkle of a true smile appearing at her brother's laughter. Ivan put the box on the coffee table. Opening it up, Ivan made an 'O' with his mouth.

“Oooh Katya, you are so kind.” Ivan pulled out a small cloth baggy, bound with a bow.

“What is it?” Alfred asked, wiggling several blankets off to sit up.

“It's love in cookie form.” Ivan praised, undoing the bag and popping a confection in his mouth. He relaxed back, eyes closed as he chewed. “Sestra, these are perfect.”

“Can I have one?”

Ivan eyed Alfred critically when the sick detective asked the question. He was jealously guarding the bag of sweets with both hands. This was a heavy decision, one that took several seconds to conclude. “I _guess_. You can have one. A broken one.” A white cookie resembling a semi-flattened snowball was placed in waiting hands. “Eat it slowly. You only get one.”

Alfred ate half of the cracked cookie instantly, then understood and regretted his action. The cookie fell apart in his mouth like the snow it resembled, subtly sweet with chunks of roasted walnut. “Mmm, Katya, you are a cookie wizard.” he hummed, savouring the second half much more slowly.

“Oy bozhe, guys it's just Grandma Vavara's tea cookies.” The woman insisted modestly. Natalya silently walked over and took one from Ivan. She was the only one allowed to do so, it seemed. Before Katya could bombarded with more flattery, the topic of conversation was changed.

“What have you guys been up to?”

“We're investigating Yao's murder. I was trying to find a local drug den, but it was raining and I got a cold.” Alfred replied cheerfully.

“You forgot your raincoat again, and you wouldn't use mine. You are so stubborn. People used to die from the cold.” Ivan grumbled and fretted in his usual moody way at the subject being brought up.

“... _Anyway_ , I now suspect Yao was the first victim of the 'Bronx River Butcher'. The rest of his body probably was eaten by fish or something. So, we were going to investigate this spot on the east side. But this big fella here won't let me off the damn couch.”

The girls seemed troubled by hearing of Alfred's adventures. “Isn't that dangerous, investigating a serial killer? What if you got hurt, or stuck. Oh my heart. You can't just run around looking for crazy men.” Katya began to ramble, easily stirred into an anxious mess.

“We won't. We will let the police men take care of it.” Ivan stated, wolfing down another cookie.

Why was Ivan lying? He wasn't normally prone to such things. Alfred knew enough to shut up and let his boss soothe a ruffled sibling or two. Natalya saw through this lie like it was glass, if her expression was anything to go by. Still she remained quiet.

“Good. You had me worried.” Katya replied in relief. The Russian-American family chatted about their plans as Alfred observed. Leaning on Ivan's side, Alfred nibbled on another weird snowball cookie. It was a genuine surprise and delight when Ivan wrapped an arm around Alfred. He loosely held the sick companion, as one would a girlfriend or family member. It felt natural, both in execution and lingering. Alfred was sure he was blushing, but kept any happy murmurs to himself.

It seemed Ivan's family was quite busy. With the descent into winter fast approaching, Katya was in a knitting frenzy to make mittens. She was attempting to make a matching set for her two children and husband Toris. All of this was between long shifts at a call centre. Natalya was in the process of trying to be a fashion model. Alfred had no doubts she was capable of such things. Natalya was as beautiful as she was sardonic after all.

Alas, the visit soon came to an end. Katya had to return home and tend to her young flock. Apparently it was to protect the twin boys from her husband's obsession for pickles. At least Alfred knew what to get the guy for Christmas. Natalya was last to leave, eager to return to whatever an ice queen did on a Wednesday. She was probably insulting people on the internet or something.

About to close the door, Natalya looked back at her brother. She spoke softly with direct purpose, always on a mission of one kind or another. “I know you won't call the cops, so just be careful okay?” A string of Russian words followed, like they often did between the siblings.

“I will.” Ivan promised, actually meaning it this time. He replied in his own sappy sounding nonsense. Alfred _really_ needed to pick up Russian so he could spy on his boss better. Regardless, it was clear they were exchanging some variety of affectionate good byes.

Once again alone, the duo closed and locked the door. “When I get better, we are checking out all those places right? Yao's killer needs to be found.” Alfred asked, very serious.

“I know. I know that better than anyone.”

Alfred didn't like how sombre his partner became at such topics. “We will find him, and bring him to justice. We're heroes, you and me.” He consoled sweetly.

Loosely grabbing Ivan's forearms, Alfred's hands slid down to those calloused strong hands. The pale arm hair tickled as it passed through Alfred's fingers. He settled his slightly smaller hands inside Ivan's. Fingers intertwined and squeezed, like a perfectly fitted puzzle. Alfred had admittedly tricked Ivan into hand holding by making him obscenely drunk only days ago. The emotionally repressed man had taken to the behaviour immediately, like a duck to water. Looking rosy and pleased, Ivan briefly met eyes. His eye lashes were something else, dark at the base fading to nearly white tips. This happy grin suited Ivan much better. Alfred would do anything to make him smile.

As this mushy sentiment formed in Alfred's head, clarity came crashing down like thunder. It was an impossibility the young man assumed would never be bestowed upon him again. It was a dream long lost, now alive and gripping his brain like a fever. The only reason he hadn't noticed until now was because of how gradual everything was with Ivan.

Alfred Foster Jones was love with Ivan Petrovich Braginsky.


	7. Washed Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter, but I tried. Future chapter updates will take much longer due to life punching me in the face.

Subtleties were difficult for Alfred to perform. The second he realized he was truly in love, he wanted to shout it to the world. He wanted banners from the roof tops, and fireworks in the sky. Even in his religiously restrictive childhood, Alfred had been an expressive being with a passion for love. He had always wanted to be in love, and now it was so.

If only Alfred's love interest wasn't a sexually deprived cop. Worse he was from a land that violently discouraged same sex couples. It really made this whole dating process incredibly difficult to attempt. There was the fact that Ivan would rather die then admit he was gayer than a rainbow. Beyond this was the issue of Ivan's past relationship. That arranged marriage had done a number on his self esteem. Even talking about sex or seeing it implied on television made the otherwise dependable man cringe or flee.

Alfred suspected it was the poor bastard's only relationship in his whole life. Ivan's sheer lack of knowledge about anything involving dating was insane. How did he not notice he was damn near spooning Alfred on the couch every night? How did a thirty three year old man not understand the basics of relationship progression? As tragic as all of this was, it was not an impossible task to overcome these issues. Alfred would simple have to be very sneaky about proceeding.

It was in this scheming, and secretly horny, mood that Alfred found himself today. No longer sick, He was back at work with the usual investigations. Ivan have proven many times he was too biased for Wang Yao's case. It was exclusively in Alfred's hands now days, with Ivan merely tagging along on stakeouts as company. Sometimes, Alfred could ask the man for second opinions. That was rather rare though.

While Alfred chipped away at the few clues left, Ivan was busy. He was tracking down a runaway teenager for a moderately wealthy couple from Manhattan. Alfred set the thick case file down and rubbed his temples. “Vanya, you're sure the police didn't give you more to work with?”

Ivan perked up at Alfred using his familial nickname, looking mysteriously pleased. It made Alfred's heart skip a beat every time the big guy looked so happy. “Yes. All the body parts were in bad condition.”

“That sucks.” Alfred sighed, flipping through the files again. Another body jumble had washed up, this time at a different family beach. The cheap netting that all the chopped parts held were in didn't even match this time. Three hands, one foot, a bunch of legs... It was a macabre puzzle with terrible implications. New theories were beginning to form, each more terrible than the last. 

The 'Bronx River Butcher' clearly had some complex system going on, or at least multiple victims. Whether they were freezing parts for later, or keeping victims alive as long as possible, it was all gruesome. Beyond this, was a series of inconsistencies. There was actual people claiming to have seen Yao, or “Chan”, walking around three days after he was theoretically murdered.

Granted, the witnesses were strung out transients. They were on heroin at the time, not acid, MDMA, or any other hallucinogens. Regardless of how high they were, their actual eyes were still standard functioning. This suggested two possible outcomes of Yao's murder.

Yao could have escaped his captor minus one hand. This was the more optimistic theory. If he had escaped, he would have booked it for the nearest hospital or police station. If he did escape, he obviously didn't make it far, because Yao was no where to be seen. Perhaps he had bled out _while_ escaping his fate. If so, where was the rest of him? It was pretty obvious the killer liked shocking children with gore. Parts always washed up at notable family beaches or boating areas.

Alternatively, Yao could still be alive. Perhaps he was locked up somewhere, some place, one hunk at a time sawed off his body. As terrible as this was, It didn't make a whole lot of sense. Keeping victims that were not children had proven time and time again to fail throughout history. Adults were too stubborn, too loud, too strong willed. Yao had notable prison time in China, and a sharp temper. He never would have tolerated such treatment.

There was a third conclusion, that bothered Alfred the most. What if Yao was the killer all along? If he was bat shit crazy enough to do it, he could cut off his own hand. It would make everyone think he was dead. Wang Yao would be free to run about, killing with abandon. This theory had the least amount of evidence to support it. Yao was cutthroat and cruel to women, but he was never registered as having mental illness. Wang was just as brilliant as Ivan claimed, his old case notes articulate and perfect. The Chinese-American didn't have motive to kill anyone. A lot of the body parts were still unidentified, but the two known victims had no personal connection to Ivan or Yao.

Then again, the transient witnesses that spotted Yao in the first place could be wrong. Heroin addicts were known to say pretty stupid things. Looking at his notes, Alfred decided what to do. “Vanya, I think we need to talk to some witnesses.”

“Oh?” Ivan stopped his rapid fire typing, looking up.

“Yeah. There's a shady looking bike shop I want to check out. Maybe ask some people if they've seen anything.”

Ivan leaned back in his office chair, stretching his arms. “Okay. I need to pick up a runaway on the way back though.”

“How long did it take to find 'em?” Alfred asked curiously. Ivan was terrifyingly efficient with a computer, old or new.

Ivan stood and put his trademark detective coat on. “Maybe thirty minutes?” He spoke with such modesty. They were almost to the grand elevator of the building when the phone went off. Ivan answered his device with a rather cheerful “Hello?”

His mood dropped instantly at the conversation. There was a beat of silence, followed by “No, that wouldn't be a problem.” After another minute, Ivan bid goodbye. He cursed the empty air after ending the call.

“What is it?” Alfred asked curiously.

“We have to go to the police station.”

“Is it optional? Because I have murder stuff to investigate.”

Ivan's response was surprising. “No. They'll drag us in if we don't go. I believe we are suspects.”

“I'm a suspect? In what? Being the most perfect?” Alfred boasted, joking to brighten the mood. It worked at least a little, Ivan's gloom a few shades lighter.

More of Ivan's old school music played during the ride. Admittedly, the lively archaic tunes were beginning to grow on the younger detective. Alfred could see the appeal of listening to such happy structured music. It was from another time, when the world was less complicated and miserable. If anything, Ivan was a giant sap for a peaceful past. He probably never had that himself.

They arrived at the first precinct in Manhattan. It was a turn of the century stone building in an updated world. Old brickwork still peaked out from modern pavement in the streets. Large billowing trees dominated the parking lot across the road, currently bare from season changes. It was becoming cold enough to snow now.

Inside was decorative lingerings of the past. Art-Deco globes hung from the ceilings, giving yellowed warm light. Chipped and abused wooden door frames still survived, even if the original door did not. They approached the welcome desk. Ivan was recognized without saying a word, coming in here at least three times a month with information. It seemed the cop in Ivan had never quit.

With barely a word, they were both brought along to an interrogation room. Alfred was nervous, but Ivan was not. He mostly glanced around, and chatted to the two policemen that escorted them.

“Vash, you got a new haircut?” Ivan greeted. He only received a cold green stare from the shorter blonde cop in return. “Ah, we will all be friends when I clear up any misunderstandings.” The Russian-American mused to himself. He was in a good mood today.

The detectives were in a grey small room, with only a table and four chairs bolted to the floor. Ivan and Alfred were grilled more severely than a burnt steak. Both cops were thorough, tearing apart Ivan's and Alfred's moves since six months ago. Ivan passed all questions with flying colours. Almost everything he did was well documented and witnessed. Alfred was having a more difficult time with all the attention.

The least humorous cop, 'Vash' as Ivan had greeted him, switched out. Officer Ludwig Schmidt stepped in. Alfred knew the strict blonde with a vaguely German accent well. He was about as fun as a wet blanket, but still more fun than Officer Vash.

“What was your occupation eight months ago?” The man was quick to cut to the worst part of this conversation.

Alfred gritted his teeth, dragging things out with a long sigh. Ivan perked a brow at his partner resisting questioning passively. Finally Alfred replied “I was... a stripper in Manhattan. It's called the paradise view.”

Ludwig wasn't perturbed in the least, but Ivan look ready to keel over. “You were there a long time?” the police officer asked. His blue eyes as cold as the lighting in the room.

“A year.”

“Why did you change professions?”

Alfred blushed hotly at the topic being pursued, but he didn't want to look suspicious either. Once the cops though something was up, it was like trying to shake off a Rottweiler. “Being a stripper is not a good job. I wanted something a bit more meaningful.”

Officer Schmidt would not relent until Alfred reluctantly recalled his journey this far. Finally, they came round to his places of living during all of these tales. The honey blonde spoke evenly, no longer nervous. Honestly, Alfred was annoyed and angry. The detectives had probably been stuck in interrogation for an hour now.

“So after the disagreement with your landlord, you were where?”

“I was sleeping in my car for two months. Mostly in the parking lot of a canning factory. I think it closed down in the 1980's? I'm not sure. It wasn't far from Red Hook Grain Terminal. There was a few junkies near there you could talk to, but other than that... not much to say about it.”

“You are still homeless?”

“Oh gosh no. I've been working with Mr. Braginsky for three and a half months, and a month in he offered me a room.” Alfred gushed a little at explaining this part. He was still grateful about the offer, never missing an opportunity to brag of Ivan's generosity.

“It is not a big deal.” Ivan murmured, looking at his hands with sudden interest. Balling them up over and over.

Ludwig's steady face broke into a friendly smirk, but he said nothing. After a moment, he couldn't help himself either. The news was surprising to him as well. “So. You live together?”

“Yep. He's the best boss in the whole wide world.” Alfred informed proudly.

“Must you say it like that?” Ivan grumbled.

“Yes. Because it's true.”

“You are more trouble than you're worth.”

“I make up for it in looks.” Alfred's hearty banter with his flustered boss was interrupted.

Ludwig stood. “Thank you for your time Mister Jones. We need to talk to Mr. Braginsky, but you are free to go.”

Alfred left the room, looking back one last time before the door shut. He wanted to say lots of things, uncertainty and fear brewing in his gut. Instead the young man kept his silence to remain socially appropriate. He tapped his legs while waiting in a chair nearby, pent up. Why did ten minutes feel like an hour? What could be taking so long? What was left that they could possibly talk about?

Eventually Ivan emerged, looked rather ruddy and depressed. His eyes were glossy, on the verge of tears. Alfred rushed over, scooping Ivan into a tight hug. The man didn't resist this, simply letting himself be held. Anxious words fell out, washing over Ivan like a tide.

“Are you okay? What did they do to you? Why are you crying? They didn't touch you did they?” Alfred barely made sense at the speed he spoke. It was a vast understatement to say he was wound up over the topic.

“Alfred... Alfred... All the victims...” The taller ash blonde sniffled, shaken and upset.

“Yes?”

“All the 'Bronx River Butcher' victims are former clients of mine, or related to one.”

All that followed was shocked silence.


	8. Truths Revealed

It was truly an emergency. This was such an emergency that Katya, Natalya, and Alfred were teamed up. Things were slightly awkward because both sisters clearly didn't trust him to meddle in Ivan's affairs. Regardless, the three of them had a common goal. Ivan wouldn't leave his room. He had taken the murder of his clients on deep personal level. Now the big goof was wilfully barricaded in his room and refusing to function.

Alfred sat by passively as the sisters needled at their brother in Russian. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know they were trying to draw the man out. They had been at it for hours in both languages. “Vanya, it wasn't your fault! We know you're a good person inside!” Katya pleaded, leaning against the door.

There was only silence from within.

Natalya, easily the most intense, was surprisingly the first to call it a day. “Sestra. It is no good. If we break in there he will only get angry.” She spoke like she was experienced in such matters. It was easy to imagine her with power tools, tearing the door right off it's hinges.

“But Natasha... We have to do something. Little Vanushka is _so sad_.” Katya appealed, crestfallen and at a loss. She looked ready to bust a hole in the wall with her bare hands so she could smother her brother in hugs. No doubt they were big boobed suffocating hugs that could break weaker men's backs.

“You have been a mother to him before. Go home and take care of your own family.” Natalya said with decisive honestly. The tall sister looked to her, swallowed, and nodded solemnly. Ekaterina finally pried herself off the door, though she wasn't happy about it.

Katya looked to Alfred, as did Natalya. It was faces of resignation, and the barest threads of trust. “Keep an eye on Vanya. Make sure he eats, and he drinks. Not just vodka, actual water. And tell him we love him, and this isn't his fault. And if he needs any help, my number is on the fridge –” Katya's anxious rambling was cut off by a tight shoulder squeeze from Natalya.

The sisters finally left, and Alfred began his vigil. He barely made it halfway through the movie 'Jurassic Park 2' when Ivan finally emerged from his self imposed prison. A haggard unkempt man, he stumbled a little at the lights as he entered the room. That handsome jaw was shadowed with incoming facial growth. Sad amethyst eyes were reddened from tears, much like the rest of his face. A dirty robe hung off him lazily, for once not tied up. That glorious naked body was visible from beneath, so scarred yet masculine. Built strong and large, if only those black boxers weren't in the way. It was easy to imagine the man was well endowed, just as gifted as the rest of his kissable body.

Alfred realized he had pressed against the arm of the couch, looking at Ivan with pure lust. He had to calm down before Ivan was scared back into his room. “Hey.” Alfred greeted in a husky voice, despite trying to be a friend.

“I don't want to talk.” Ivan bristled defensively.

“You don't have to. We could sit together. Be quiet.” Alfred replied quickly, having difficulty remaining still on the couch. He couldn't help it. Alfred wanted to be fucked, stuffed to the brim, kissed and licked. Finally seeing what was in his future, The young detective couldn't hold himself in anymore. Ivan was a veritable buffet of man meat and Alfred wanted a full course meal.

Ivan hesitated only a second, then sat. They brushed legs, Ivan remaining in direct contact. There it was, that electric charged attraction between them. Alfred damn near trembled with the urge to tackle Ivan, kiss him, ride his glorious cock like an animal. “Vanya?” Alfred whispered.

“Yes?” Ivan wasn't entirely clueless, rosy cheeked and a little breathless himself.

“I have a secret I need to tell you. It's a best friend super special secret.”

“I can keep secrets.” Ivan spoke softly, taking Alfred's grasping hand.

“The secret is... I like you very much.” Saying the words was like a burden being lifted. Relieved and slightly giddy, Alfred plastered himself to Ivan's side affectionately. “I like you so much, I have trouble containing it all inside.” He loved Ivan. He wanted everything the guy had, every smile and every tear. Ivan was so fresh to healthy relationships, Alfred was terrified to scare him off. The word 'love' would probably have the stoic creature fleeing for the hills.

“I... I like you too. I love being friends with you.” Ivan stammered, his nervous joy leaking through like sunshine. He leaned in a little more, so close they almost enveloped each other. They touched noses, lost in each other's love struck gaze. Heart hammering in his chest, Alfred's eyes traced over those parted lips. They beckoned his reckless adoration.

Alfred impulsively kissed Ivan, eyes sliding shut. All of his love, concern, and joy poured into the action. His soul was so vulnerable, wavering and exposed. The slightest cold gesture might shatter it. This precious moment almost broke, until it didn't. Ivan's slightly chapped lips pressed back, then parted with a sharp breath. He looked wide eyed, unable to speak. 

Had Alfred finally pushed too far? Had he broken his boss? The honey blonde was pressed close, whispering “You gotta say something.”

Ivan mumbled something in Russian, looking to Alfred. It took him a minute to realize he wasn't speaking English. “That was a kiss.”

“It was.”

The guy looked perplexed, as if presented with a riddle. “But it wasn't. I've kissed people before. This was... It was...” Alfred held his breath, ready to retreat. This was it. He was going to rejected, fired, and thrown into the cold. Ivan stopped him from shrinking away, grabbing Alfred. “Don't go.” he whispered.

Alfred stilled, uncertain and scared. He didn't know what to say, for what he did was very impulsive. After a minute, he gathered his nerves and spoke. “Was it... good?”

Ivan blushed as he nodded. “It was... nice.”

“Do you think I could have another?” Alfred asked bravely. The larger man shrugged shyly, not letting go of Alfred's hand. Taking this as a yes, the hand was squeezed back. Alfred kissed him again, gently receiving full participation this time. They consumed each other slowly, indulgently. Ivan wrapped around his lover tightly, slowly dragging Alfred onto his lap with each gasped breath between kisses. Alfred went along with everything, blissful and happy.

As pleasantly slow and sweet as the kisses were, they were not enough. When Alfred had effectively mounted Ivan, he ground down his hips. Even in casual jeans, He was hard enough to show. Ivan was equally excited, his large manhood tenting in those black boxers. At the barest flicker of friction, Ivan groaned and bucked his hips upwards. This was taken as permission to continue. Encouraged, Alfred spit on his hand then dipped it under the waist band of Ivan's boxers.

A slick grip squeezed the base of what turned out to be a large cock. Alfred shivered with the need to fuck, desperate to have this massive sexy thing inside him. Ivan keened and whispered foreign obscenities, beginning to thrust slowly into Alfred's grip. Seeing the pale man in the throes of primal lust was a drug Alfred was instantly addicted to.

Kissing ferociously now, Ivan was fucking Alfred's hand harder. It was remaining slippery from more spit and the seeping drops of precum. All more evidence to shared joy. Ivan was trailing down Alfred's neck with kisses, becoming rougher and nipping a little. It took a few minutes for him to become so wound up, but now he simply wasn't stopping.

“Ah! Not so hard!” Alfred whimpered. Ivan heard nothing, biting down on his lover's shoulder as he gave a few more frenzied thrusts. Growling loudly into where he had latched on with his teeth, Ivan came. Alfred couldn't see the results, but he felt it. There was hot cum on his hand, soaking the boxers. There was so much it was slightly shocking, and very arousing.

Ivan went limp and relaxed on the couch, a glowing smile on his kiss puffed lips. “I _came_ with another person.” he whispered drunkenly, eyes closed.

“I didn't.” Alfred pouted, so hard it was now uncomfortable. He got off Ivan's lap, shimmying his jeans off. The second Alfred's long suffering arousal was freed from it's denim prison, Ivan looked at it sleepily. Brushing a palm against the tented briefs, Ivan rubbed the head softly with a thumb. He seemed intrigued by the organ, and the damp spot it was creating in the fabric.

“Can I... touch it? Really touch it?” Ivan asked shyly. He was so innocent and sweet he couldn't even say the word 'penis'. It made Alfred's racing mind swoon from love sickness. He nodded, hooking his thumbs under the elastic waist band. Sliding the patriotic briefs down, a full erection sprang free.

Alfred took care of himself. It seemed Ivan wasn't ready for sucking him off. Despite several rampant fantasies saying otherwise, the guy was too new to it all. At least the big lug watching, perhaps learning, was empowering in itself. The way Ivan watched him with innocent reverence, offering to stroke him near the end.

Ivan's grip was slick and good, despite the callouses on his fingers. Alfred had to sit, too distracted to manoeuvre around the damn coffee table. Curious and pleased, Ivan silently observed as his hand was used. Alfred's took to thrusting into that glorious grip. It was barely any participation on Ivan's behalf but at least it was something. Dangerous close to the edge, Alfred felt Ivan actively stroking and squeezing. It twisted just the right way, or rubbed just the perfect spot. It didn't matter which.

Alfred clutched the ends of the couch cushion, trembling and arching. With a final moan of Ivan's name, he came. Stars danced by as he fell slowly back to Earth. After a few moments, he was grounded back in the room again. Sagging on the couch, Alfred looked over at his partner of sorts. They were both probably blushing messes. Ivan was more so, looking nearly crimson with his very dirty hand.

“I came with another person.” Ivan murmured, absolutely mesmerized.

Alfred basked in the attention, cuddling Ivan's shoulder and upper arm possessively. “You did.”

“I love being friends with you.”

“I think we're more than friends now.”

Ivan's eyes went wide. “How? I didn't offend you did I?”

“No, no, Vanya.” Alfred broke into a sleepy giggle, pressing a grin into that well muscled shoulder. “Don't worry about it, you'll hurt your brain.”

They tried to get cleaned up, they honestly did. Alfred's hands were childish and clingy. Ivan's eyes were beckoning and lingered. Anytime they were about to leave and be productive, pesky stray kisses would drag the shot attention spans right back. Ivan was too new, too scared, to fuck Alfred's eager ass the way it desired. The honey blonde settled for kisses, thigh fucking, and light fingering. Hours shifted, evenings passed, as they failed to achieve anything except orgasms. Ivan gave up cooking briefly and ordered a pizza, too love drunk to care about the 'greasy calories'.

It was some time later, and Alfred had officially moved into Ivan's cushy bed. It was a king sized monster mattress, perfect for cuddles and soft morning whispers. Alfred had always hungered for such closeness, even when his family's constrictive religion forbade it. Getting him out would be more difficult than a infestation of bedbugs now.

Ivan seemed pleased instead of scared off. Alfred's desperate need to be loved and paid attention to was fed gratuitously. Ivan was as touched starved as they come, fitting around the shorter man securely. Any opportunity to feel or press closer was not wasted. Dirty and satisfied, the pair slept soundly while fused together in all but a few ways. Ivan's fuzzy arm hugged close, trapping Alfred's chest. Soft whistling snores breezed past Alfred's ear as he woke slowly.

Ivan's phone was ringing. Without contact lenses in to see, Alfred couldn't really register where it was coming from. He yawned and elbowed Ivan with a backwards motion. It took a couple rough pushes to work.

“Chto?” Ivan mumbled from behind, still mostly in a zombie state. It translated to 'what' in Russian, as Alfred had learned from Katya.

“Phone.”

“Nyet.”

“ _Phone_.”

Ivan reached over lazily, taking the phone off Alfred's side of the bed. He squinted at the lit up screen, its intruding blue glow breaking the dim of the room. He answered it, leaving the phone on speaker mode. “Hello Katya.” After, he set the phone down and resumed cuddling. He nuzzled Alfred's tousled hair lovingly.

“You are finally answering your phone! Are you okay?”

“I'm good. I'm happy.”

“You are not upset?” the disbelief was understandable as it came out of the phone. Ivan had been emotionally crippled and locked in his room only days prior.

“No. Alfred cheered me up. He is very fun.” When Ivan said this, Alfred smiled and kissed Ivan's palm.

“What did he do? You were a mess.” Katya replied.

“We watched a movie.”

“For two days? Natasha is driving me crazy because she has nothing to do at the office.” Both men chuckled at hearing the woman complain. “Who's there? I am interrupting something?”

“... Hi Katya.” Alfred greeted sheepishly, still drowsy.

“We are just being lazy.” Ivan answered, dodging the fact that he was naked in bed with his work partner.

“Well, you should visit me. I need a break with adults that speak words.”

Alfred waited, wondering how Ivan was going to get out of this. If the last two days were anything to judge by, he wouldn't go. The man was busy unloading decades of suppressed gay affection on Alfred's very willing body. Though the fact Ivan still insisted he was 'publicly straight' was incredibly stupid. Whatever made him feel better, Alfred supposed.

“We can visit in... an hour? I have to clean up.” Ivan replied breezily.

“Okay. We can do lunch!” Katya replied, oblivious in her safe part of the world.

Ivan bid farewell, ending the call. He giggled, kissing and cuddling Alfred. “We must enter the real world.”

The implications of this statement bothered Alfred in a way he hadn't anticipated. It was like Ivan viewed their secret semi-fuck festival as a dream or a game. Anger bristled forth as sharp words from Alfred's mouth. “This _is_ real, Ivan. I'm not just some toy or quick fuck! I have invested time and feelings in this.”

Ivan's loving embrace froze at this accusatory defence, but his grip was iron strong. “I'm... I'm not good at this. But... I'm not using you. I don't even know what I'm doing.” He rolled away, curling up on the cleaner side of the bed as if wounded.

Alfred's lightning quick temper passed, replaced by guilt. In the dark of the room, Alfred shuffled over. Now the somewhat messier bigger spoon in the scenario, He hugged Ivan and kissed that strong neck. Ridges of small cigarette burns and scar tissue could be felt with soft lips. “I'm sorry about blowing up. I just hate being used... For a minute it sounded like... I'm, I'm being silly.”

Ivan shook his head, a barely perceptible gesture in the dark. “No. I know what I sounded like. I did something very wrong Fedya.”

“I'm not _that_ upset.” Alfred chuckled.

“No. Not that! I was researching your background more the other day. I discovered an ex-boyfriend of yours not far from here.”

“Oh?” Memories of shame and bad decisions washed over Alfred. He may have only fallen in love once before. It didn't stop him from hitting every dating event like a train crash. He had always been a motivated guy that knew what he wanted, willing to make mistakes. Some of the mistakes were bigger than others.

“A mechanic named Micheal. I was supposed to trail him, but I couldn't remember why. I kept getting sick feelings like anger, but not anger. I went crazy and confronted him and... beat the guy up. I couldn't stop myself.” Ivan's wobbly confession only professed what Alfred suspected all along. The way he guarded his sisters viciously, his very possessions around the home. Ivan was a profoundly jealous man at his core. This should have bothered Alfred, but it only warmed the crevices of his long healed heart. Ivan had enough living feelings that he busted up Alfred's bastard ex.

“That's so... sweet of you.” Alfred swooned, thick with feelings of love. The emotion wrapped around him like a fluffy blanket.

“That's... okay?”

“It's... You probably shouldn't have done that. But I think it's very sweet of you.”

Ivan merely made a content sound, like a happy cat. “Mine.” he whispered, squeezing Alfred's hand.

“Let's get cleaned up cutie.”

Ivan had initially insisted on only 'playing around' in the bedroom. He was a respectable man, a 'publicly straight' man, and he wanted to maintain that imagery. Everyone and their cousin could probably see Ivan was gay as a rainbow. Still, Ivan firmly believed he emitted a certain image. Not even a day after Ivan had set these boundaries, he was already breaking them.

There they were, about to head out the door. Ivan looked at him sadly, as if separated forever. “Fedya?”

“Yes?” Alfred replied, finished putting his shoes on.

“Maybe... I can kiss you in other areas of the house. Just because.”

“Maybe.” Alfred teased, grabbing the lapels of Ivan's coat and pressing close.

“Maybe I was too restrictive about touching.” Ivan whispered, looping arms around Alfred carefully.

“Kiss me you big lug.” Alfred ordered sweetly.

Ivan obeyed willingly, gently, then eventually had to break for oxygen. He looked dazed with a faint smile, holding Alfred close. Each delving dance of tongues was electric. Just one more kiss, and another, and a perfectly friendly butt squeeze for fun. Easily stirred by such motions, Ivan was already falling back into lust. With a sigh of resignation and a will of iron, he forced himself to part.

“No. I promised my sister we would visit.”

“Fine.” Alfred rolled his eyes but otherwise agreed. It had been a while since they left the condo to work or function socially.

With a final shared look of mutual attraction, they left for Katya's house.


	9. Preparing For Battle

The house was one of life. Cozy knitted quilts were tossed over used couches, and family photos adorned the walls. The clutter of a hundred adventures was collected on every shelf. Toris, a tired brown haired man, watched his twin daughters play on the floor. Katya was nearby, chatting in rapid fire Russian with her half-sister Natalya. Ivan chose to hide from his sisters, laying on the living room floor. There, he let the two five year old girls absolutely ruin his shaggy hair with pink ribbons.

This was the first time ever Alfred had been allowed to accompany Ivan to his sister's house. After a decade away from such a sentimental environment, he was overwhelmed. Hiding in a corner sofa, Alfred hugged a pillow to his body.

Toris was not far away, glancing to his guest. “So, you're Alfred? I missed introductions at the door.” He spoke softly, hardly a threatening man. Despite being of decent height, he was notably shorter than his wife. She was in all ways, a very overwhelming maternal person.

“Yeah. You've heard of me?”

“Ivan and Natasha never shut up about you.”

“Oh?” How flattered the honey blonde was.

“I do not talk about him.” Ivan argued stubbornly from the floor, his hair being bound in pink bow tufts.

“Stop moving uncle Ivan.” One of the twin girls ordered, sticking her tongue out in concentration. It was Felicia, the more outspoken of the fraternal twins. She was the apple of her father's eye. Keen to crawl on his grease stained lap, The child's hot pink dress was already ruined.

“Leesya! What did I say about ruining your nice clothes?” Katya yelled from afar, her mom senses tingling.

“Mama! Papa just got home! I wanna hug!” Felicia shouted back, abandoning Ivan to climb on her dad's stained mechanic clothes. Emma, the more quiet sister, caught wind of getting attention. She looked nothing like Felicia, shorter with brown hair and nearly amber eyes. Soon both girls were clamouring for their father's affections. Ivan chose this time to escape makeover hell.

Retreating to Alfred's side, Ivan watched with amusement. “Adorable isn't it?”

“The girls or your hair?”

“The girls.” As Ivan spoke, he shifted just a little closer. Legs touching, Alfred leaned into an arm.

“Let me fix that hair.” Alfred whispered, starting to undo all the small bows. After each one, he'd carefully ruffle the ash blonde locks in place. “You always liked kids?”

“Always. I wanted several early on but... fate intervened.”

Toris eyed their gentle exchange, but said nothing. He resumed doting on his daughters as they sat on each leg. Finally, he stood with a child carried in each arm. He was much stronger than his thin build suggested. “Katya, me and the princesses will clean up for lunch.” The girls shrieked and wriggled at being lifted. As the parent left the room with his cargo, Natasha and Katya came over.

“What are you doing here?” Natasha greeted coldly, a surprise to no one.

“I was invited by Ivan. I have every right to come.”

“No you don't. This is a family place.”

Ivan intervened before his protective sister and his equally possessive partner began fighting. He did this at least four times a week at work. “I invited him, so he stays.”

“Now now. We have enough food for guests.” Katya was quick to diffuse everything, looking downright pleased. “It isn't often my little Ivan bring friends over.” Just as Ivan was freed of the last pink bow, his dignity was once more lost. His big sister pinched both his cheeks and cooed “Look how happy he is.”

Ivan grumbled something about privacy and pride, but endured being coddled to death. Natalya was less sentimental, her words like razor blades. “He probably had sex. Has that look about him.”

Ivan blushed, speechless a moment. Alfred was thoroughly comfortable with his own sexual identity, and took the accusation in quiet stride. “I-I didn't! How could you accuse me of such things?” Ivan stammered, forever a shitty liar.

Katya released her little brother and resumed standing idle near the kitchen. “That's none of our business. If Ivan has found himself a date, what he does is private. And we can only assume he's having safe clean sex, with the appropriate permission. And I'm sure that –”

“Sestra _please_ talk about something else.” Ivan begged.

“Da da, if we must.”

“I want to continue talking it. I think it's interesting.” Natalya replied, smirking.

Ivan looked ready to cook from his own humility when the children burst into the room. “Monster!” Emma screeched as she was chased by her father. Felicia shrieked with laughter, in a new clean dress that was somehow more pink. “Catch me Papa!” they called out in unison. The brown haired one barrelled into her mother's legs, while Felicia ran circles around the living room. It was like watching unceasing race cars in motion.

Toris, now in clean jeans and a shirt, walked passively after them. “We're ready to eat dear.”

“Perfect. I set the table.” Katya replied, kissing him on the cheek after crushing him in a busty hug. Toris was more than pleased to trapped in such embraces. He savoured the contact before parting to gather the kids in one place.

“Come on little ones, time for food.” he called out. “Food!” the children cheered, ripping around a corner with dolls still in their arms. The toys were dropped instantly at the sight of all the tiny triangle sandwiches on the table.

Katya pursed her lips. “Pick up toys.”

“But Mama...” Emma whined, only to earn a sharp glare. Reluctantly, they put the toys away, then returned. It was clear Katya was the lawmaker in these parts, having perfected 'listen to me right now' voice tone.

Everyone sat at the dining room table a room over, quick to dive into the mountain of perfect sandwiches. Toris had pickled onions on the side, the oddity of the bunch. Katya wasn't kidding about the man's love of pickled goods. Half his plate was only pickled baby onions. Alfred pitied Katya having to kiss him. He probably reeked of vinegar.

“So. What happened to Mister Yao?” Toris asked innocently. He was met by shocked expressions around the table.

“Yao was... how I say... murdered.” Ivan explained carefully, spelling the word 'murdered' one letter at time so sweet little children wouldn't clue in.

Surprised, Toris looked to Alfred and Ivan. “Oh. When did this happen?”

“Six months ago. I came in to help solve things after.” Alfred informed sombrely.

“After the fight.” Toris's reply was surprisingly quick and informed.

“It was a big fight. Almost destroyed the business.” Natalya commented between sips of her drink. It was strong enough to smell from across the table. Probably not a healthy beverage, from the antiseptic odour it carried. Surprisingly, Katya too sipped a glass of what seemed like paint thinner.

“Oh, my apologies. Do you want some vodka Alfred? I have more in the kitchen.” Katya offered upon spotting curiosity.

“Oh no. I don't drink.” Alfred's statement made the entire room go deathly silent. Even the children paused, looking to their parents.

“You don't drink at all?” Ivan asked, not believing a word of this.

“Nope.”

“What are you?” Natalya demanded, as if he was a monster.

All the sudden attention was a heavy weight. “Well, I was raised under the guidance of the church of Jesus Christ of latter day saints.” Alfred explained shyly. Ivan blinked in confusion, while Katya tilted her head. Natalya and the kids only wore blank expressions.

“Can you explain what that means?” Toris inquired politely.

This was a common reaction outside certain parts of a few states. Alfred took a deep breath and tried to run at the topic again. “Well. They're Christians, but different. And there's a book of Mormons.” He only received more confused expressions. “Back in the 1800's, Mormons used to practise polygamy?”

At this, there was finally looks of recognition, then disgust. “Really?” Ivan sounded very unimpressed by this apparent discovery.

“Yeah, but that was a _while_ ago. Mormons are basically normal Christians now.” Alfred assured hurriedly, knowing full well how weird social events could get around the topic.

“Normal Christians?” Natalya asked, perking a brow.

“Yeah you know... no drinking, gambling, or premarital sex. Normal Christian stuff.”

“That... that is not normal.” Ivan muttered.

“Not that it matters. I don't practice it. What do you all believe in?” Alfred was desperate to change topic, not wanting to drag up his excommunication and the lonely decade that followed.

“Oh. We're atheists. The world is what you put into it.” Katya answered breezily. Alfred couldn't grasp this. Life without God seemed impossible and insane to him. Ivan nodded, adding “That's right. We bring our own light to the world, not the will of some _thing_.”

Alfred had fallen in love with a gay atheist. It made him erupt with small giggles. His strict parents would had disowned him on the spot if they hadn't done so already. “Oh... wow. These sandwiches are just amazing Katya. What did you put in them?”

The awkwardness faded from the room as everyone chatted and ate. After an hour, Ivan was quick to part. The kids and both sisters latched onto him like anchors. “Nooo uncle Ivan. I wanna play!” Emma whined, wrapped around his leg like a vice. Natalya was hugging an arm, while Felicia hung off the other.

“Girls, Natasha, Leave him alone.” Katya commanded. Her daughters scattered at the authoritative voice, already engaging in a game of tag. Surprisingly, even Natalya obeyed. Unlike the children, she grumbled likely Russian obscenities and sauntered off to raid the kitchen.

“Vanya. I know you're going to run off and do something crazy about your murdered friend. But please please don't get yourself killed. Use the cops. I know they are cops, but...” Katya looked at her little brother with a face only an exasperated mother could wear. She next turned to Alfred, blue eyes as cold as a stone. “... and _you_ better not get him hurt.”

“I'll keep him safe.” Alfred promised, giving a mock salute.

“You better.” Katya hissed. For a second, she was a perfect impression of the hyper protective Natalya. Right after, her sunny sweet disposition returned. “You can visit anytime you want, da? I always love guests.” With parting cheek kisses, they were pushed out the door.

As Alfred walked to the curb and waited for the car to be unlocked, he talked. “What was that?”

“That, Fedya, was the big sister seal of approval. She never gives death threats unless it's really important.” Ivan commented, unable to stop a real smile.

“Death threats are a form of affection?”

“Yes.”

“So Natalya likes me?”

“I'd say your growing on her.”

Alfred perked a brow. “She threatened to cut my balls off last week. I bought her a caramel cappuccino instead of a chocolate one.”

Ivan started the car, having buckled in his seat belt. Alfred climbed in and did the same. Patting the younger detective's knee, Ivan replied “You bought her a cappuccino. I don't think you understand how much she drinks coffee or vodka.”

It took a minute to soak in the message. “She _likes_ me. She just speaks in threats.”

“Yes! You understand. She loves me very much and I still get sarcasm. It is part of her way.”

“So...” Alfred tented his fingers in scheming as Ivan drove the concrete jungle that was New York. “I have kiss up to her even more.” Ivan's face darkened at this. “Not _literally_ kiss up to her. It's an expression big guy. Like... schmoozing or brown nosing.”

“... oh.” Ivan mumbled sheepishly.

“You are a jealous one aren't ya?”

“I am not jealous!” Ivan denied. “Katya is right though. I looked over your work yesterday, and I think we have enough to go to the police. Serial killers are not in my scope of interest. Either one of us getting killed would be very inconvenient.”

“Really?” Alfred asked, very surprised. Ivan was loathe to hand off his work to any law enforcement, especially American police. He held them in a special type of contempt, for some unknown reason. All the same, he regularly submitted case information to them when he was overwhelmed. Even his own pride knew it's limitations.

“Da. I want Yao avenged, and I want to return to a normal life. I want whoever keeps killing my former customers to be dealt with.”

“Okay. Let's go to the police station then.” Alfred fully agreed with Ivan for once. The second the 'Bronx River Butcher' made their appearance, the low brow detectives had already been in too deep. The same police precinct as before in sight, Ivan began the horrible ritual of finding a parking spot in Manhattan. It was finally time to end this murder investigation.


	10. Curious Cats

It had taken two weeks of check ups, but the police finally conceded to using Alfred's leads. Yao's case was now so cold, they were some of the only leads. The world had now broken into November, and New York was already busting out the holiday pride. As small bursts of Christmas lights bloomed in the snowy streets, Alfred's impending dread grew.

Burying himself in lesser cases, Alfred had yet to leave his work desk for hours. A shadow fell over his papers, making him look up. It was Ivan, and he was wearing a deadpan brand of concern. It was something Alfred was used to, a Braginsky family trait. “Fedya.”

“What?”

“You are upset.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

Alfred paused, holding back a snappy barrage of words. He didn't want to push the man away. “I'll be okay.”

“Tell me what is bothering you.” Ivan was just not relenting.

“No.”

“Was it a woman?”

“... No.”

“Was it a man?”

“Just drop it!”

“So it was a man. I will crush him to paste.”

Alfred groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “No... Vanya. Please don't break anyone's arms.”

Ivan grabbed him by the shoulders, serious as ever. “Then tell me why you are sad.”

Alfred looked up, replying “I just want to find that killer okay? While the cops piss around with verifying leads, we're just sitting here. I feel useless.”

“Lies. If you truly felt that way, you would have been an emotional mess from the start.” Ivan shot down his reply in an instant. It surprised Alfred, because Ivan seemed emotionally blind in regards to his own behaviours.

“I hate Christmas okay?” Alfred confessed. He waited for the mockery, the questions that always followed. None did.

“Is that all?” The older detective was completely chill about this news. Christmas was a huge deal, especially in relation to Jesus's birthday and... Ivan was atheist. How could Alfred have forgotten. Jesus Christ was probably just a blip of nothingness in history to the ex-cop. Ivan seemed entertained as he spoke. “You forgot I am atheist again.”

“... Yeah. I did.” Alfred felt silly now.

“I forgive you.” Ivan teased, kissing Alfred's cheek while leaning over the desk. He then returned to his own, and sat to review tiny cursive notes. Ivan's writing was another thing that was absolutely adorable to see. It was small and looping like little butterflies. Alfred honestly never though he would describe another man's writing as cute ever. Love really addled one's senses.

“So... uh, I did some poking around for smaller cases. Some rich lady wants us to follow her husband around, look for cheating. There's a missing pedigree horse. It's pretty clear who stole the horse. We could get that done today, drive over.” Alfred rambled as he thumbed through the many files on his desk.

“Yes. We'll do that horse one, finish it off. After, we need to go to the police again. They want to talk to us.”

“ _Again_?”

Ivan rolled his eyes in agreed annoyance. “Da, again.”

Alfred dragged a hand through his hair and leaned back in his office chair. He was starting to understand why Ivan detested directly working with the cops. It was a veritable jungle of red tape and bureaucracy. “They understand we aren't suspects, right? I mean, they've interrogated us twice.”

“I... I don't know Fedya. But they are police, and we have to go.” Ivan began cleaning up his desk. It didn't take long, and he soon put his latest long coat on with flourish. The second a single snowflake hit the ground, Ivan began busting out his best outer wear. Trademark trench coats, tweed blends, leather with fur ... He clearly relished looking dashing in the worst weather had to offer. Today was nothing short of ridiculous, with glistening black fur.

“You look like a crime film character in that thing.”

“That, my friend, is the goal. Life is a drama, and I plan to be the main character.” Ivan twirled a little as he spoke, proud of his stupidly expensive fur coat.

The drive to the police precinct was long and terrible in it's routine. It was becoming a weekly tradition. So they were, trapped in traffic again. Peering out the window at the stream of gridlocked cars before them, Alfred sighed.

“Vanya?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ever going to let me drive the car again?”

“Nope.” Ivan was steadfast on this topic, enamoured with his classic car. He acted like it was valuable or something. The ash blond took pride is his possessions, perhaps too much. “This is a fully restored Oldsmobile 88, fourth generation, with holiday hard top and chrome. You almost scratched it when you parked it. You will never ever drive it again, for as long as I breathe. This car is my _baby_.”

“You're a baby.” Alfred mumbled. He then met glances with his companion, smirking in teasing fashion. “You know, I could have parked it just fine if it wasn't as long as a boat.”

Ivan shook his head denial. The car was huge by modern standards, with trunk space for three. “She's just the right size for me.”

This spurred a series of increasingly silly body part jokes that left both parties a little rosy cheeked by the end. Mostly the conversation made Alfred's imagination run free. Great, now he was horny again. It was going to make super serious police talks really hard to take seriously. It was a literal hour of travel, twenty minutes of parking, and battling a thirty year old parking metre. All of this struggle, this absolute inconvenience, to be told they were being to meet a new person somewhere else.

The cops of New York city were all to obvious, too distinctive. In comparison, Ivan and Alfred were practically invisible. Thus they had been politely asked by officer Ludwig Schmidt to collect information off a skittish informant.

“We'll do it.” Ivan instantly volunteered, his inner cop showing bright as day. “But, we aren't technically –” Alfred's whining was sharply cut off as he was elbowed in the side. “We'll definitely do it. For the greater good, da?” The ridiculous fur clad man overrode him completely.

“We were hoping you would say that. We'll be nearby to cover both of you, but one of you will have to wear a wire.” The vaguely Germanic blonde cop answered with ease. He damn well know Ivan would say yes. 

“I'll wear the wire. Captain layers here would get shitty reception.” Alfred spoke up, overly familiar with the technology.

“You are merely jealous of my greatness.” Ivan fluffed up his coat collar until it resembled a glossy black mane, framing his comparably pale face. Alfred simultaneously wanted to insult the guy and make out with him. Instead, he looked away and tried to behave in a police station.

Officer Schmidt bore this bickering with the grace of a tired parent. Officer Vash was less than impressed, clearing his throat before addressing the couple. “Now, our informant claims to know the identity of the Bronx River Butcher. He's brought us good information before, so we have little reason to doubt him.”

“Peter Kirkland. He looks like a teenager, about this tall. Blonde, wears a blue and white hoodie. English accent.” Officer Schmidt gestures to just below his own burly shoulder as he talked.

“Got it. Where we going?” Alfred said, already bored.

“We'll get you set up, and get things started up as soon as possible.” Officer Schmidt was quick to lead them to a room near the back of the station. There, another uniformed man was messing with the presumed listening device. It was smaller and not cassette player dependent, unlike Alfred's own outdated equipment.

“Okay. Let's get this party started.” The young detective started shedding his coat.

“We have changing rooms.” Officer Vash objected as Alfred unbuttoned his shirt. Several years as a stripper had numbed Alfred to the now seemingly puritan standards of society. The only reason he wore clothes at all in the condo was because those pesky sisters never knocked. Ivan would be completely pissed if Alfred's coveted body was seen by anyone but him. He claimed it was for the sake of modesty, but Alfred knew the truth. He was too pretty, too important, to be shared. The honey blonde revelled in this attention, this obsession. He wore skinny jeans on purpose just to drive Ivan up the wall. He always “forgot” his towel in the wrong room before showers. All to fluster and captivate his beloved audience of one.

Blushing slightly, Ivan held up his fur coat as a privacy curtain for the sake of everyone. “Why must you always do this?”

“Just because.”

“You're so unreasonable.”

“You're old.”

“You don't understand style.”

“You get your clothes from morgues.”

“Ladies, please.” Officer Vash groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he winced at the affectionate banter. Officer Schmidt merely looked amused.

Ivan glared back at the offended policeman, while Alfred laughed. He replied, “It can't be helped. I'm clearly the pretty and the smart one.” Wire in place with medical tape, Alfred was quick to redress. He could feel Ivan's eyes sparingly peeking at him. They ate up any naked glory to show like it was a treat. This only fuelled Alfred's ego and libido, making him horny again. _That_ was going to make things annoying.

With Alfred all set up and several successful sound tests, all information was given. Address on a scrap piece of paper, almost everyone was ready to go. “Now...” Officer Schmidt began, “We won't start recording until we're at the site, but you can't block the microphone. We need clear affirmative statements from the informant, since he'll never go to trial.”

“Got it.” Alfred answered, giving a thumbs up. Now outside alone with Ivan, the pair were lightly dusted by fresh white snow. “So... We have an hour before our backup is doing this meeting thingy. Wanna go go for lunch?”

Ivan and Alfred ended up at a trendy sushi bar not far away. They barely talked, yet communicated fine. Fleeting eye connections, Ivan's nervous laugh, the way he was stammering the odd word. Something was either very wrong, or very right. He usually wasn't malfunctioning this badly in public. It was either a nervous breakdown, or Ivan was about to ravage Alfred's body with kisses. Funny enough, both results had very similar symptoms.

It was the end of the quick lunch, and Ivan was still largely useless. He looked a little dazed after Alfred picked up a fork he accidentally dropped. It seemed Alfred's designer skinny jeans were doing their job after all.

Ivan's cell phone pinged as he stared holes in Alfred's ass. Loving all this attention, the young blonde hammed it up. He grabbed the ignored phone from Ivan's back pocket, giving the semi-muscular behind a healthy pat. A small needy sound leaked out of Ivan like an animal in heat. “You got a message big guy.” Alfred pointed out, southern charm thick.

Ivan mumbled something in Russian, fleeing to the bathroom. Seeing how many times he could get Ivan to nearly wreck his pants was a private game now. Alfred's newest record was three times a day. Once more successful, Alfred took the opportunity to mess with the phone. It was entirely in funny looking letters, probably that upside down Russian alphabet. Still, almost all smart devices were the same these days. Alfred easily figured out how to take a few cute pictures of himself after paying the lunch bill.

Fifteen minutes later, Ivan emerged from the bathroom. A little flushed and very embarrassed, the man was easier to read than a children's book. “It's time to go do this meeting thing.” Alfred greeted, batting his lashes. He knew he looked damn demure doing it, and did it whenever possible. It always had such a visible effect on his flustered boss.

Ivan took a second too long to form words, as per usual. “Okay.” By the husky response, Alfred could tell he was close to winning. It took two months of relentless flirting and flaming homosexuality, but Ivan's defences were crumbling apart. Ever since realizing he truly wanted Ivan for himself, Alfred was on a mission. It was a war for love, and the honey blonde absolutely refused to lose. Ivan would be his conquest. Alfred was going to get that beautiful thick cock up his power bottom ass, and enjoy every second of it.

Ivan was quiet as he drove, making decent progress for once. Traffic had finally calmed down enough that they zigzagged to their location quickly via side streets. Alfred's anxiety only grew as they arrived. They arrived in Morrisania. It was a downtrodden neighbourhood of New York, Grey concrete cracking as if eroded by human tears. The depression in the area was a like a never ending rain. Spanish advertisements stood beside English ones, but crude Spanish graffiti was more common. There wasn't a single homeless person in sight of their chosen location. This was troubling to a street wise Alfred.

Transients sensed danger, perpetually on edge due to lack of protection. If they vacated an area, they were being hassled by police, or there was something bad happening. Alfred refused to leave the car a moment. He had a white knuckled grip on the door handle. “We shouldn't go out there.”

“Why?” Ivan asked, clueless.

“It's dangerous. There's no homeless, and the graffiti tags are all faded.”

“And this concerns us how?”

“The homeless ran away because it's dangerous. This is abandoned gang turf Ivan. Gangs don't just leave without a reason. Think about it.”

Alfred's sharp words finally seemed to get into Ivan's thick skull. He nodded silently, and reached across to the glove compartment. A black handgun was withdrawn and stored inside a furry coat pocket. Alfred eyes went wide as he stifled an out cry of surprise. Placing a hand over the microphone taped to his chest, the younger detective harshly whispered “Why the fuck do you have that?”

Ivan shrugged. He dared to shrug, like it was no big deal! They had shared stories and hopes over long night chats. Alfred had believed they had both come to the same agreement on gun ownership. Guns were _bad_ , and that's all there was to it. Hurt and disappointed, the younger male couldn't help but get riled up.

“You don't get to shrug this away. You always talk about hating... those. You had one in your car the entire time!? I thought you didn't like violence!”

Ivan pulled Alfred close, struggling to calm his angry friend. “I really don't want my car stolen.”

“You hypocritical piece of – mmph!” Ivan big hand covered Alfred's mouth, silencing him. The ash blond answered his ringing phone. “Hello Officer, yes. We are about to get moving.” There was a moment of silence then “No, no problems. The microphone should work.”

After Ivan ended the call, he shyly looked up to Alfred's judgmental stare. “Please. We can talk about it later, but we need to get this done.”

Alfred was pissed, but he had to agree on that point. A very tight lipped “Fine.” was spoke right back. They left the car, locking it, then checking again. The building before them was a long closed Spanish taco restaurant, almost no English visible anywhere. Alfred's years managing of Mexican workers on the family orange farm was finally useful as he read the sign. A dirty label scar of an old strip joint was poking out beneath peeling yellow paint.

“What is this place?” Ivan asked, mystified by it all.

“A shitty taco restaurant, it's definitely condemned. Keep an eye out for dirty needles and broken stuff.” Alfred warned. Ivan followed behind, seemingly unafraid. He didn't know the dangers of homelessness. He didn't feel the dread of waking up several times a night to make sure your stuff was still under your body. In so many ways the ex-cop was so damn virginal.

Kicking the rickety wooden door open, Alfred lead the way. Using Ivan's flashlight, he had a scared shaky grip as he searched. The dark inside of the building was confirmed to be a wasteland. The halo of light cast over the room, revealing garbage and more gang markers. Odd brown paint was all over the walls, newer than anything else. The room stunk of decay and rust.

Weaving around a few remaining dining tables bolted to the concrete floor, Alfred called out “Peter! We came to talk!” His voice echoed in the large abandoned room, not helping the atmosphere at all.

“Peter!” Ivan called out in tandem, standing beside Alfred. Again, there was only dead silence. He looked over in vague concern. “Something is wrong Fedya. This feels like a trap.”

“I know. I fuckin' know.” Alfred cursed, swallowing nervously before pressing onward. Beyond the trashed dining area was a kitchen, the pass through window boarded up with old house siding. There was a saloon style door filling a doorway, next to two doors for bathrooms. Cocks and simplistic stick people had been spray painted all over three entrances.

Both bathrooms were burnt out shit holes covered in old drug needles, but otherwise harmless. Ivan took advance beyond this, gun drawn. As angry as Alfred was about Ivan's gun, he was more happy to have a human shield. Holding onto Ivan's long coat like a scared child, he took video with his phone.

“Do you... think this place is haunted?” Alfred asked softly, glancing about.

“No. Ghosts aren't real.” Ivan replied evenly. He paused, then added “It's definitely cursed though.”

“Curses are not real. That's crazy.”

“Nyet, curses are really real. My hometown even has a witch doctor.” Ivan defended his insane beliefs as they explored the kitchen. It was all more of the same, misery and decay in structured form. There was only one part of the kitchen left to see near the rotten smelling fridge door.

“A witch doctor? Really?” Alfred scoffed, trying to record with a steady hand.

“He gets results Fedya.”

“It's the goddamn placebo effect.”

“He is _not_ a placebo.” Ivan bickered, enjoying their lesser eternal conflicts. They turned a corner to the last nook of this terrible place, then Alfred froze up. They had found Peter Kirkland.


	11. Beginnings Of Games

It was now a week since the failed intelligence gathering and Ivan was irritated. Not irritated, something else far less tangible and sensible to Ivan. It was an emotional soup of fear and anger for another. It was a storm of feelings that slipped through Ivan's fingers whenever he tried to hold them still. All of this revolved around a very sad looking Alfred, who was curled up in a ball on the couch. Depression clung to the young man as he watched a movie without really seeing, eyes far away. Of course, Alfred had every right to be upset. He hadn't been prepared for discovering Peter Kirkland.

It was generally hard for anyone to process a dead person. Peter's blood soaked body being posed in a chair was unusual. His sloppily severed head was placed on his lap with eyes and mouth sewn shut. Flesh had swollen and bruised around the fresh stitch work. It was probably too much for any innocent civilian.

If only Ivan was so pure and sweet. He was much more akin to a hardened turnip, dry and dead inside from his life experiences. Still, Ivan was desperate to alleviate Alfred's plight. It would lighten his own distress. He sat next to Alfred, determined to hug the sadness away.

After two soft squeezes and nuzzling that puppy soft hair, the smaller man started to quiver. Small salty tears leaked out, but Ivan kissed them away. Tears didn't have the right to mar that sweet face. Finally the centre of Ivan's world wasn't frozen anymore. Ivan rocked the man, gently singing the song “Georgie Girl” by the Seekers. His native Russian accent lilted the words in a way so alien, so endearing. Ivan hoped this was so, since he had never heard his own singing recorded.

“I'm sorry. I'm being a big baby.” Alfred finally spoke, words trembling. “I've never... I've never seen a dead guy before. That was fucked up.”

Ivan only hummed, rubbing comforting circles in Alfred's back. It was equally for Ivan's pleasure as it was for soothing his grieving friend. Alfred was still young. It was a joy to feel those supple muscles. The honey blond had yet to acquire fat or scars like Ivan did. “It's okay... You are safe.” The older detective promised sweetly.

“How were you so calm?” Alfred asked, all but fusing to Ivan's side.

The dead of decades past flashed by in Ivan's mind. Homeless that froze to death from Moscow's biting cold. Their skin always pruned and darkened once thawed, like the grim reaper's harvest. Men splattered and stinking after committing suicide in their bathtubs. Teens pale and limp from recent drug overdoses. Farther back still, tan camouflaged men being eaten by desert sands. Bullet holes riddled their bodies, caused by Ivan's own aim. He had only been following orders... following orders...

A sweet voice lulled him back to his condominium. He was not in the desert. He was not pinned down by gun fire behind enemy lines. “... were zoning out there a minute.”

“What?” Ivan mumbled, blinking to clear his vision. 

“You went all spooky.” His dear companion repeated.

“I am not spooky. Ghosts are not real.” Ivan changed subject suddenly, relieved to see some of the old banter. It meant something in the world was right again.

“Could you get me ice cream?” Alfred asked, batting those long lashes of his. That simple motion frequently cowed Ivan, making him forget his own name. He grunted an affirmative, briefly struggling to use words. Ivan swallowed as Alfred ran a finger tip down his chin, his neck, traced his collar bone through the thin cotton shirt. The touch undid Ivan every time. “Maybe chocolate ice cream?”

Logic scattered then reassembled like ripples in a pond. Everything that delicious tanned blond did made Ivan purr like a large engine. “O-okay.” Ivan agreed slowly, utterly entranced. He didn't even register much else until he was about to start the car in the underground parking garage. Why was he getting ice cream? He felt so high.

The phone rang, pulling all of his attention. It was big sister! Ivan loved hearing from his older sibling, no matter how invasive and pushy Alfred claimed she was. “Hello Katya!” Ivan greeted in Russian.

“Hello Vanya.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“I forgot my coat in your car. Can you return it some time today?”

Ivan looked around, dimly registering a blue and yellow coat in the back seat. Alfred could really cast a spell on his senses when he wanted to. “I... see the coat. You want it now?”

“Yes.” Katya swiftly replied.

“I'm supposed to get ice cream. Do you have any?”

“Please yes. Torya bought me some but I'm just going to eat it all, then it'll go to my ass... You can take it all away.” She rambled like all women did. It was one of a dozen reasons why Ivan was mostly repelled by the opposite sex. Of course, his dear sisters and Alfred could get away with it. He held all of them with a special reverence immune to scrutiny.

Forty minutes of traffic later, Ivan pulled into his sister's driveway. Coat balled up in his arms, he knocked on the door. After a second of courtesy waiting, he let himself in anyway. “Katya!” he called out as he made himself at home. Kicking his shoes off, he glanced around the cluttered home. Only his siblings were there, chatting in rapid fire Russian as they looked over photos. Natalya's modelling portfolio was scattered on the table as the sisters debated.

“Vanya. Which picture is best? I'm applying for a perfume ad.” Natalya greeted upon seeing him.

“They are all perfect, just like you.” Ivan teased, kissing her on the cheeks. Naturally, all of them were wonderful. Natalya posing in a black dress with several camera filters on. Natalya in leather, with black nails and thick eyeliner. Natalya, sweet and demure in a white lace thing. None of them had flaws.

“Ugh! You are worse than Katya!” His little sister stomped off in a huff, her sky high heels clacking on tile. Katya and Ivan watched her fume with happy hints of smiles, then looked to each other. “Your coat.” Ivan prompted, handing the apparel over.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Accepting the coat, she gestured to the kitchen. “I'll get your ice cream.” She then walked to the freezer, but stopped. She turn to Ivan, nearly level as they met eyes. Katya was almost as tall as him after all. “Vanya?”

“Yes?”

“I know that special camp Papa sent you to was wrong, and Papa was a bad man for doing that. I don't want any of that to hurt you anymore.”

Bad memories, dark spaces, missing memories... Screaming after waking up at three in the morning for eight weeks. The twenty year old nightmare fluttered to the surface for only a second. It was a second too long. “No. No. I'm not talking about that.” Ivan denied instantly, backing away two steps.

“And I'm not asking you to, but I don't want that to limit what you have with Alfred.”

Ivan hadn't expected this swerve in conversation. Up until now, no one in the family had been saying anything. Alfred was just _there_ , and no one was questioning why or how. “I don't understand.” he muttered.

Katya rolled her eyes. “You love Alfred. It's pretty clear.”

Ivan's world would be darkness and pain without Alfred's sunny smiles. All the same, it wasn't love. Love, by definition, was the stage before marriage between a man and a woman. The rote explanation rolled around in Ivan's head as if on a tape recording, his voice yet not his mind. Alfred's affection wasn't love, it was butterflies in Ivan's chest, and sappy smiles... Never the strict cruel role called “love”.

“You are mistaken. I do not love him, but I do care about his well being.” Ivan clarified, having done so before.

“Not this... I meant... How does he make you feel?” Big sister was starting to look exasperated now.

“Fedya makes me... He...” Ivan faltered, struggling to bottle the stir of sensations summoned by Alfred's nickname alone. It was warm and hopeful, making his aching heart lighter in close proximity. He clenched his hands in frustration, angry at himself. Communication had always been his weakness, even before his induction into conversion camp. After the fact, he simply lost the capability to know his own heart. “He... makes me... warm and fuzzy. I forget things a lot when he's around.”

“That's love. That's what we've been trying to tell you. _That_ is love. I don't want you to throw your happiness away because Papa had different ideals.” Katya wouldn't cease in her attack on Ivan's psyche.

“Please give me the ice cream.” Ivan ordered coldly, wanting to flee.

Katya sighed and looked away. “Fine, but why do you need ice cream? You don't even like it.”

This was true, for Ivan was more of a pastry lover. “Fedya is... sad. We were supposed to meet an informant, but the guy was murdered before he could talk. It was pretty messy.”

“Oh that is so terrible! He took it badly?”

“Yes. Fedya threw up outside right after. He is not sleeping enough. He has been so sad, and I do not know what to do.” Ivan confessed. This problem had been plaguing the man for days. Never before had the Russian-American been so tortured by another person's suffering, and so motivated to fix it.

Chocolate mint ice cream was transferred to Ivan's hands in a plastic bag. Katya seemed mostly sated for now, willing to let her brother off the hook. “How do you know if he's sleeping? You don't watch him right? Because that would be creepy.”

“Oh no. He shares the bed with... me.” Ivan answered thoughtlessly, trailing off at the end. Lying was one of his weaknesses. He never got away cleanly with the act. Often times he simply forgot to lie at all. Blushing hotly upon the words leaving his stupid face, Ivan tried to run. Katya caught him by the arm, as strong as a bear.

“Ooh I'm so excited! Details! I have to know! Have you two love birds kissed?” Katya was onto him now.

Ready to die from humiliation, Ivan looked anywhere but his sister. “Let. Me. Go.”

It was too late. Katya was more excited than a puppy over this discovery. “My baby brother is all grown up! His first love and true love's kiss! NATASHA!”

“WHAT!?” Natalya yelled from the bathroom.

“VANYA IS IN LOVE!”

“OBVIOUSLY!” There was the muffled flush of a toilet, then Natalya showed up a few minutes later. She had a hungry look, not unlike Katya. “Okay. Details, now.”

“They are sharing a bed, and they kissed.” As Ekaterina and Natalya reflected increasingly false gossip off each other at light speed, Ivan finally freed himself of that overbearing grip. Katya was just as strong as him after all. He almost escaped completely, when both sisters trapped him at the door. “Where do you think you're going? You owe us a nice story.” Natalya demanded.

Ripping free, Ivan slipped into his shoes and fled with ice cream and coat in hand. “No I don't!” he called out. Apparently, the threat of going outside into snowy New York was sufficiently imposing. They stopped chasing him, heeding the chilly draft coming like it was fatal.

Yelling out the front door, Katya's hyper mother mode never truly turned off. “Put your coat on! You could get sick!”

Natalya had different motivations, peeking her head out. “If Mr. Jones is being bad to you, I'm castrating him! You better tell me if he is!”

“You are both crazy!” Ivan yelled in parting, before getting in the car. They blew kisses back, then closed the door quickly. Once again journeying home, Ivan could not entirely deny his family's latest gossip interest. Even if Ivan wasn't in love, he still felt something very unique for Alfred Foster Jones. His ever expanding grasp of the English language simply wasn't good enough. There was another word, another definition, to apply better. This was the wonderful yet infuriating magic of English as a second language. There was always a new word Ivan didn't know to describe something better.

The pondering of potential new vocabulary was cut short when Ivan finally returned to his home. Alfred was not on the couch where Ivan left him. Alfred was missing. Maybe he was in danger, or trouble, or _something_. “Fedya!” Ivan called out nervously, starting to panic a little.

“Over here big guy!” Alfred called out, sounding muffled.

Ivan chased the sound, led straight to the bedroom. He opened the door, still talking. “I got you the ice cream and... and...” He faltered at the heavenly sight before him.

It was Alfred, in the most outrageous of male lingerie. Stockings, silky red ribbon, and racy red fabric was taut against that tanned skin. Ivan didn't know where to look, where not to look. Words failed him as he stalled in the door way, entranced. In the dim radiance of the night stand lamp, Alfred's smile was accented by long shadows. His rarely used glasses glinted slightly. His lithe yet kissable form was living art.

“Oh...” Alfred spoke in a husky whisper. “I want you instead.”


	12. The Porn Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For sensitive readers that dislike the vulgarities, or those seeking plot, this chapter is pure porn. You don't have to read it to get elements of story. Nothing vital is stated. On the other side of the coin, the horny people can find the smut faster via the name. Enjoy, or not. Your choice.

Alfred was willing to admit he could be impatient. When he was younger, he often burnt the roof of his mouth at dinner time. He couldn't wait that extra ten minutes for food to cool off. He was hungry right away! In Ivan's case, Alfred had been more than fair. He gave the guy two long dry months of space and waiting. Sure, the initial kisses were all Alfred's doing. The many hand jobs and sleeping in the same bed had been Ivan's idea. The man was so close to breaking his stupid “I am straight” oath completely.

Just the slightest push, and Ivan would be Alfred's best fuck yet. The long denied passions, the inherent strength of the Slav, it would make him the best of all lovers. Alfred already knew the man would never cheat or stray, not like previous boyfriends. If only the gay bastard would cave already. It was now getting close to December, and Alfred was done waiting.

The perfect opportunity presented itself. It had been a week since the disaster that was Peter Kirkland. Seeing the man, taped to a chair with his head on his lap. Whoever did this was sick in the head. Even the smell of all that fresh blood did in Alfred's surprisingly delicate senses. He had mentally scarred before in his years of service as a stripper. Never before had he seen something so distressing!

Alfred was on the couch, watching a film. He didn't really see it though. Gore and blood seemed to be in every picture today. By the time Alfred finally found a safe clean movie, it was too late. Peter's haunting and gruesome death was already fresh in Alfred's skull. The cloying crimson mess, the reek of death... those eyes. Those sewn shut eyes. It was all a game, a message from the killer. Whoever they were, this was all just a game. It was designed around Ivan from the beginning, and Alfred had taken far too long to realize it. Some detective he was.

The brooding blonde was wrenched from his dismal thoughts. Ivan's all encompassing hugs surrounded him, drowned him in smothering attention. Alfred unbound instantly, shedding a few tears he didn't even know he had. His Ivan, his lover, his prize to be claimed! Alfred was shocked at his own grieving process, and his own possessiveness.

Alfred managed to calm, rocked and kissed with utmost care. He even giggled a little, tickled by Ivan's scratchy smooches. His unofficial lover was trying to grow a beard and failing. It wasn't that Ivan looked bad with a beard, but he did look incredibly older. Alfred, in his mid twenties, was often mistaken as a nineteen year old. Cue a man that could now pass as fifty and deceptively young looking Alfred. A lot of heads were turning in public, but not in a nice way.

Ivan was singing something vaguely familiar and melodic. It was something from his work playlist no doubt. Regardless, it finally stopped the flow of tears. The beginnings of the grieving process and it's many emotions were still an open wound though.

“I'm sorry. I'm being a big baby.” Alfred finally spoke, words trembling. “I've never... I've never seen a dead guy before. That was fucked up.”

Ivan only hummed, rubbing comforting circles in Alfred's back. Alfred savoured the touches, melted and arched into them like a cat. All this attention was a drug, and he wanted more. “It's okay... You are safe.” The older detective promised sweetly.

“How were you so calm?” Alfred asked, all but fusing to Ivan's side.

Ivan didn't respond at all, glazing over. This actually happened a lot. There was times at work Alfred would have to literally shake a frightened and lost Ivan back to reality. It was yet another symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that the man displayed. Alfred didn't really want to know what horrors Ivan had lived through, but there was definitely a lot of them. People weren't born with that many scars.

Alfred sighed and gave his comforting shield a sharp pinch on the shoulder. Seeing Ivan's mind return, he added “Hey, you were zoning out there a minute.”

“What?” Ivan mumbled, blinking to clear his vision of past horror. 

“You went all spooky.” Alfred repeated dryly.

“I am not spooky. Ghosts are not real.” Ivan changed subject suddenly. Alfred was relieved to see some of the old banter. It meant the big guy was back in functioning order.

“Could you get me ice cream?” Alfred asked, batting those long lashes of his. That simple southern charm frequently cowed Ivan, making him forget his own name. Ivan grunted an affirmative, briefly struggling to use words. Alfred ran a finger tip down that sandpaper chin, his scarred neck, traced that elegant collar bone through a thin cotton shirt. The touch undid Ivan every time like a spell, one Alfred was eager to abuse. “Maybe chocolate ice cream?”

Ivan was no longer functional again, but in the best of ways. He looked at Alfred with pure hunger and lust, nodding dumbly. “Okay.” He kissed Alfred deeply, becoming quite good at it. Without warning, Ivan stopped making out and stood. He was now a man on mission, determined. If an army stood between Ivan and this chocolate ice cream, he could probably kill all of them.

With Ivan leaving in a hurry, Alfred was left alone to mull over his thoughts. Most of them were sexual frustration of various forms. The rest of his brain was still deeply upset over seeing a dead guy. Maybe he needed _extra_ chocolate ice cream. It was then that a brilliant scheme came to him.

Ivan was going to have his last moral barrier destroyed completely. Today, Alfred was finally going to receive some good and proper sex! Excited and motivated, He ran to his own room and dug around in his garbage bag of old clothes. He was going to wear only the hottest, skimpiest, sexiest lingerie he owned. It was going to make Ivan so damn hard, his cock could double as a weapon.

With an evil grin, Alfred fished out his most revealing outfit. The sweet devil stripper set. It was long black stockings topped with red ribbon, a hot red thong that barely fit Alfred's family jewels, and not much else. Complete with a pet collar and red satin overcoat, it used to be for call dates and Halloween specials. The ensemble had quite a bit of mileage already.

Fifteen minutes into preparing, Alfred remembered why he hated this set so very much. It was just as evil as it was sexy. The stockings caught on everything, threatening to rip constantly. The red ribbons were slippery and frequently undid themselves. The racy thong was not the best quality, stitch work scratchy on his skin.

After thirty minutes of struggling, the stockings were finally done. The ribbon just refused to work with him, falling all over the place. A hole was discovered in the silky overcoat. It was one disaster after another. Alfred rather unhappily discovered the thong didn't fit well. Had he gained weight or gone soft? He was still going to the gym three times a week. Oh god, was this a side effect of aging? He had so much more life to live! He wasn't even twenty six yet!

The jingling of Ivan's massive key ring was heard faintly in the hall. Ivan was either really fast at getting ice cream, or Alfred took too long. Giving up on one of the ribbons completely, Alfred tossed it in the garbage and ran to Ivan's spacious bedroom. Launching onto the bed, He made an absolute mess of the covers. No time to fix it now! Alfred looked around to see if the scattered flower petals were sufficiently spread.

It was then that he realized his dorky working glasses were still on. They had thicker drop proof frames, or at least they were more damage resistant. Oh no, were they not sexy? Should he have put in his contacts instead? Were glasses still considered cool? But all this anxiety was in vain. The distinctive squeak of the front door was heard.

“Fedya!” Ivan called out from the kitchen.

“Over here big guy!” Alfred called out, then visually winced. That was so weird to say! Alfred could had something sexier, or smarter, or _something_. but it was too late.

Ivan opened the door a second later, still talking. “I got you the ice cream and... and...” He froze up, blushing like a school girl. His beautiful violet eyes danced over Alfred's form. They couldn't seem to decide where to land, dark with pure attraction. Excellent, the costume was still working.

“Oh...” Alfred spoke in a husky whisper. “I want you instead.” It was a time tested method and line, Alfred's lure for love. It had worked before just as it worked now. “Put the ice cream away, and I'll reward you.”

“Da.” Ivan murmured, still under Alfred's spell. He stared as long as possible, before finally breaking eye contact and leaving. He was gone only a moment, ice cream, car keys, and phone placed somewhere. Good enough. His normally precious coat was simply dumped on the floor like limp roadkill.

Alfred was surprised. Ivan was already stirred into action, eager to play. Normally the shy man had to be lured out of his priestly habits with plenty of teasing foreplay. When lingerie was involved, the guy was ready to party in under a minute. His adoration of snappy dressing seemed to seep into all elements of life.

Ivan was on Alfred instantly, partially pinning him as they made out. It was a little embarrassing how good Ivan was getting with kisses, one of Alfred notable weaknesses. When Ivan transferred to his neck, the larger man kneed open Alfred's legs. Now parked between willing thighs, Ivan's rock hard package could be felt rhythmically rutting against Alfred. All the while, a trail of roughly bitten hickeys was lacing towards Alfred's nipples. It was all so quick, so hot. As groping hands finally cupped Alfred's ass and pulled him taut against Ivan's hips. Alfred succumbed, unable to stay quiet.

The younger man let out a long groaning whine, the urge to fuck more powerful than ever. “Get your clothes off.” Alfred growled, pressing hard against his lover.

Never had the Russian-American been so obedient. Ivan let out a basal sound, as if hurt he had to stop. He then got off the bed and stripped down to nothing with no hesitation. Alfred drank in the sight. There was Ivan's cute, if scratchy, attempt at a beard. His broad scarred chest was fluffy with pale hair. His pale body was lightly padded with fat, only making him softer and more endearing. That large cock bobbed with each step closer, rigid and ready.

In no time at all, Ivan was on Alfred. Touches, kisses, it all melted Alfred's control. Ivan started looking pained after a moment, pausing. “Please, please touch me. I'm ready, I want... I need...” His question broke into lesser begging without a trace of hubris. This truly was the most aroused the larger man had ever been though. He looked _hurt_ by his aroused state being left unattended.

Proud of this achievement, Alfred nodded. “Okay, get on your back.”

Laying down, those loving violet eyes never stopped following Alfred's graceful motions. He may have been clumsy or crass in other parts of his life, but not now. Sex appeal used to be Alfred's job. It was his medium, and he considered himself an artist. Agonizingly, he danced a little as he stripped off his costume. Ivan growled something definitely not English, gesturing for Alfred to get closer. It was a mistake to obey, if only for his poor costume. Ivan pulled Alfred on top in a hurry, tearing the last stocking with his grip. The skimpy thong was undone and thrown away in a hurry, no regard for it's condition spared.

Now both fully naked, Ivan said something else that made no sense. Alfred cocked his head while mounting Ivan's hips, confused. After a moment, Ivan cleared his throat and blushed deeply. “Lube.” he requested more clearly. He still sounded ragged, barely in control. It was a huge turn on.

The request was granted quickly, tube handed to the needy man beneath him. Alfred was going to tease Ivan a little more, maybe rub against that eager cock resting against his ass. Instead he yelped a little in surprise. Now familiar fingers pressed up against Alfred tight hole, the lube still slightly chilly. It grew warm quickly enough, as the entrance was gently stroked.

Ivan had never been so demanding before, and it felt so right.

00000

The blonde above him was making the sweetest sounds. The sight was breathtaking, the normally charismatic Alfred unbound and bobbing above him like this. Seeing Alfred at his mercy, riding those fingers in ecstasy. It stirred primitive envy in Ivan's tunnel vision mind. He wanted to feel good too. He had the right to feel _something_. He worked hard. He brought that ice cream. He was a good guy!

A thought came forth, a simple yet forbidden one. Seeing Alfred enjoying himself on three fingers, swaying and shuddering in pleasure. The man had to be stretched wide open by now. The sexy toys they could shove in there would be big enough. Heck, one of Alfred dildos was just as big as Ivan's cock. His own needy erection, ignored and rubbing against Ivan's soft squeezable bottom. Biting a lip, Ivan withdrew his fingers to slick himself up with new lube. Fuck, that was kinda cold. He should have warmed it first. No wonder Alfred make that cute squeak of a sound earlier.

Shadows of dark thoughts drifted closer to the surface. Memories of his dad publicly shaming him. Blocked fragments of his six months in a conversion camp. Screaming. Homosexuality being a sin, an illness of the brain. A genetic flaw to be bred out. Ivan had heard it all a million times, seared into his psyche. Yet...

Drinking one beer didn't make you an alcoholic. Eating one piece of movie popcorn didn't guarantee you would plow down a whole bucket of the stuff. Peeking at a particularly sexy looking person wasn't a crime. Although, if anyone did covet Alfred, Ivan would probably punch them in the face. The fact of the situation was Ivan was painfully horny. It couldn't hurt just to try something new. Just try this one little harmless thing for a minute. After that Ivan was done. After that, he would resume being his moderately chaste self.

With this lust induced logic decided, Ivan checked to make sure both men were slick enough for this new manoeuvre. Finally, he wiped off his good hand. Gripping Alfred's hips, he make sure he was lined up and pressed upwards without warning. Alfred's heated bitchy whining at not being fingered was sharply silenced. He gasped, in a slightly pained state of serenity.

“Please, slowly.” Alfred whimpered, panting and sinking slowly onto Ivan's eager member.

Ivan barely heard him, heart thundering. Still, he tried his best not to thrust the rest of his length in. It was a battle not to cave to instincts, control shredded. It couldn't be helped. Only the head was buried in that slick tight heat, and Ivan was already losing the ability to form words. It was unified joy, feeling so much at once as they truly joined together. Electric warmth in his body, his fingers, his very brain. More, more, more!

After a patient minute or two Ivan ached to fuck like an animal. Alfred was sinking so slowly on him, so tender. The need to care for that smaller man was dwarfed by the need for personal satisfaction. Ivan let out a throaty moan as he bucked his hips once. Almost all the way in, Ivan Braginsky was long gone. He couldn't stop if he wanted to. He gave another shallow thrust, making his Alfred cry out in pleasure. The sound egged him on, thoughtful pushes evolving to faster bucks of the hips.

Heat and joy was all that really registered. Being held, holding, sinking further into suppressed urges than ever before. They ceased to be two people in this moment, both crowing and grunting in pleasure. Ivan's grip on that soft tanned skin tightened as his heart fluttered with emotion. He wanted to confess nothing and everything, not knowing proper words in this state.

Alfred's own pace suddenly sped up, syncing with Ivan. The two were meeting just right in greater force, an audible slap of skin joining their chorus. Alfred's lower volume hiked up suddenly as he trembled and squeezed around Ivan's erection. “Ivan! I'm gonna, f-f-fuck! AH!” with this stammering cry, Alfred came all over Ivan's chest. The entire process was beautiful. The scent of sex, the sounds. Just knowing Ivan had caused this euphoria was intoxicating.

Coiled hot need pooled in Ivan's guts finally snapped. He arched as he came, pumping cum into Alfred's gift of a body. Panting and gasping, he went slack after a minute. Three little words slipped free of his lips. They were words Ivan thought impossible to understand, to grasp at his stage of life. He thought the years of training and conditioning tore the very sounds from his soul.

With his heart more breakable than ever, Ivan whispered “I love you.”


	13. Love and Madness

Ekaterina liked to think she was a patient and good mother. She was a good person, a matronly leader despite her deceptive youth. Tonight she was with the kids, watching them play. Much like her brother, she was intelligent and quick to learn. After Ivan showed her everything he knew about computers, he moved onto new things. She did not. Ekaterina became quite good with computers and the internet in general. She discovered day trading on the stock market, and pursued it like a wolf.

Prior to married life, she had been a full time professional trader. Now days she was content to only dabble in the market. Her were children now the centre of the universe. Ekaterina wouldn't have it any other way. She was a motherly person, always wanting a brood of her own since she was little.

Felicia leaned against her mother's leg while colouring. The more outspoken daughter looked up, having the same green eyes as her father. “Mama?”

“Yes princess?” the mother replied absently, currently mending a sock in her favourite chair.

“I drew a picture.” It was a large sun, with the entire family standing on it. “It's us on the sun, because the sun is warm.”

“No dear. The sun is hot. It would be unsafe to walk on the sun.”

“Why!?” Felicia was quick to rise, defending her lovely artwork. The little blonde girl barely rose above her mother's knee, yet bore more ego than the rest of the family combined.

“We would burn if we walked on the sun.” Emma noted softly colouring her own picture. It was a large waffle, or a cage, or maybe a terrible flower. Either way it was, just precious.

“What would you know about walking on hot stuff, miss scaredy cat!” As Felicia squabbled with her fraternal twin sister, Ekaterina tuned a lot of it out. She was mostly deaf to children's noises by now. Instead, her attention was poured into perfect tiny stitches. 

In the middle of the kids stabbing each other with crayons, the front door slammed open. A thunderous cold “KATYA!” was yelled in warning. It was none other Natalya's cutting voice, ridged with anger like usual. Despite the sisters only arguing or gossiping, they had been close since the beginning. Papa may have been an unfaithful man to his many wives, but he believed in unity. Ivan, Ekaterina, and Natalya all had different mothers, but they had grown up together. They were closer knit than a sweater.

“WHAT!” Ekaterina hollered right back.

That furious click clack of silly impractical heels came closer, the front door loudly shut. “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO VANYA!”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” The older sister actually didn't know what this was all about. Ekaterina didn't so much as budge, numb to all yelling.

Natalya was finally in the room, looking rather distressed. She didn't even fix her wind skewed hair yet. “You talked to Vanya about love again and now... Now he's saying he loves that _idiot_. They're making out at work. I almost walked in on them do adult things in the employee bathroom. It's traumatizing me and it's your fault!”

Ekaterina laughed at the outrageous claims. Her silly little brother wasn't anything like that. “Your imagination is strong today.”

“I'm not lying. He's brain controlled by that animal he let in his home. Vanya has been smiling all day like a crazy person. It's exhausting just to see it.” Natalya spoke, entirely ignoring the two kids now attaching to her legs.

“Aunt Natasha! Aunt Natasha! Play with us!” “Makeovers! Makeovers!” “Let's all be princesses!” The accolades of youth were finally answered. Natalya ruffled their hair affectionately. “After I talk to your mama.” Sated with this response, the living anchors detached themselves and resumed colouring in their My Little Pony colouring books.

Well, this seemed serious. Ekaterina had only talked to Ivan four days ago, doubting she would make any impact on twenty years of conditioning. Ivan didn't do grand gestures of affection, or smile very much. It simply wasn't his way. It wasn't being Russian, for the most part. Had that exuberant and noisy American started rubbing off on him? “Let us talk in the kitchen.” the mother cautioned, not wanting to corrupt her little love muffins.

Natalya nodded and lead the way. The minute the kids were out of earshot, yet still in sight, Natalya poured herself a shallow glass of vodka. “Vanya must have snapped or lost his mind.”

“This is ridiculous. Vanya isn't like that. He's a quiet guy.”

“Call him. I dare you.” Natalya thrust her own phone into Katya'a waiting hands.

Little sister was being over the top like usual. This was all a great big joke, or a prank. “I _will_ call him.” Ekaterina dialed the number as she sneered in sisterly fashion.

After two rings, Ivan answered with a very happy “Ivan speaking!”

“... Hello Vanya.” the sister responded cryptically. Nobody answered a phone that cheerfully. That was just plain strange.

“I have to thank you big sister!”

“Why?”

“You were trying to teach me of love. I _finally_ understand. Love is not a qualifier to marriage. Love is not a disease. It is puppy kisses and sunshine in your heart. I know love now, I understand all those terrible songs on the radio.”

Ekaterina puffed up a little in pride at her brother's revelation. She hadn't really expected the talk to affect him at all. She wasn't really sure what was different from the other thousand times she tried to talk to Ivan about his deep problems. Still, Ekaterina deserved a best sibling award for causing such profound change. “Well I'm happy you're happy.”

“I'm going to marry Alfred.”

The mother nearly dropped her phone in surprise. “What?” she gasped.

“We're going to be married, and get a cat, and adopt five children together, and family vacations. We're going to do everything together. He's my world, and I love him so much.” Ivan sounded absolutely drunk now, over flowing with dozens of love confessions.

“Are you drunk?”

“No! I'm in love!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, now understanding Natalya's distress. Ivan was completely out of touch with common sense. “Vanya, where are you right now?”

“The jewellery store. I'm looking at wedding rings.”

“Ivan Petrovich Braginsky, you get out of that store right now!” Ekaterina used her deathly serious mom voice. Both children a room over sat up ramrod straight, looking at her like she would snap them in half.

“But Katyaaa!” Ivan whined through the briefly crackling phone connection.

“Get out of the expensive store or I will drag you out by the ears!” As she berated her fool for a brother, the children realized they weren't the ones in trouble. They snickered and resumed colouring pony pictures with glittery crayons.

There was a sigh, then traffic sounds were heard in to the background. “Fine. I am outside now.”

“Vanya I'm happy you found love, but how long have you known Alfred?”

“I don't see how that matters.”

“Answer my questions.” Ekaterina shot right back, getting frustrated.

“... I've known him for four months.” Ivan muttered, finally relenting.

“Do you think four months is a long enough to really know someone?”

“I... well, I don't see why it wouldn't. I mean, he so cute and sexy.”

“What was his last job? What is his full name? Do you get the parent's blessing? Did you even talk to his parents?” As she asked more questions, Ivan faltered.

“He used to be, ah...” Ivan was barely audible now as he trailed off. “... A stripper in Manhattan.”

The older sister groaned, smacking a hand to her forehead. “A what?”

“It's not that bad! He stopped being a stripper almost a year ago.”

“How does that make it better?”

This time Ivan was the one that lost his cool. His voice thundered through the phone speaker, forcing Ekaterina to hold the device at arm's length. “How dare you judge my Fedya! He is a sexy miracle that treats me like a king! I haven't felt this happy in decades! You have no right to insinuate anything about him! You don't know where he's been, how he's suffered. Fedya is a sweet heart, and I'm _lucky_ to be with him!”

“Okay... Okay. I'm not saying he's a bad person. But, from a stranger's view, it looks like you're about to marry a stripper you've only known for four months.” she reasoned softly.

At this, Ivan's rare temper receded to where ever it typically resided. Once more calm and collected his voice lowered to regular volume. “I suppose that looks bad.”

“Maybe you could hold off asking him to marry you a few months? Get to know him better? Maybe you could meet the rest of his family?”

“That is... a good idea. I could use the extra time to plan a real wedding.” Once again Ivan was back in fantasy land. At least Ekaterina had stopped him from proposing to Alfred in the next hour or less. Truthfully, she didn't trust Alfred at all. He hadn't proven he was worthy of being a Braginsky in the slightest. The Braginsky family was an old proud line of craftsmen and warriors, cops and specialists. Ivan had been a cop, just like Papa, and Papa's father before him. No stripper was going to sully the family name unless they were extraordinarily pure of heart.

“Thank you for listening.”

“I guess you are right sometimes.”

Ekaterina wanted to tease him on this, but Ivan had just backed down from a rather angry flare of rage. He was beloved by the entire family, but everyone knew just how angry he could get. Ever since he was a teenager, Ivan's suppressed emotions included the darker side of humanity. Even Papa, with his zealous traditional values, avoided his son's temper tantrums. Luckily, Ivan only became truly mad once every few years.

“I'll see you soon for a visit okay?”

“Okay. Take care Katya!” Ivan ended the call after.

Ekaterina looked from the phone to Natalya, already exhausted by this turn of events. Natalya looked back with the same silent weariness. Dealing with her brother was going to become more impossible than ever before.


	14. Mouse Trap

Things hadn't been exactly smooth lately in the social arena. Alfred was proud, pleased even, to have unleashed Ivan's love. It was a wave, a storm, a _monsoon_ of love. Sometimes it was a bit much, but Alfred managed just fine. The problem lay in the side effects of Ivan's personal growth.

For one thing, Alfred was probably going to be crippled. Ivan was so eager to show his affection, that Alfred was getting laid every day for a week now. It was rough love making, and soft kisses. It was utterly perfect, impossible to say no to. All the same, Alfred's ass was getting goddamn tender. Sitting on a chair at work required an ice pack and pain killers.

Ivan's perfect love was spilling out into other aspects of life. It was a lazy Sunday morning, and Alfred managed to actually move around for once. He celebrated this fact by stealthy rolling out of bed to raid the cookie jar. Upon discovering Alfred's love of cookies, Ivan had personally baked treats for the man. There was a whole jar of the things just sitting out for any occasion.

Blindly feeling for his glasses, Alfred felt them on the end table. In the dark of winter morning, he sneaked out of the room. The door was closed with a careful soft click. Ivan's sleeping form didn't budge, but Alfred didn't want to take a chance. His lover generally slept like a hibernating bear. Occasionally his PTSD would flare up. In these rare events, Ivan would wake up instantly from the smallest noises. Still asleep in his own way, wide eyed and sputtering panicked Russian. With enough kisses and spooning, he always passed out minutes later.

The most silent of ninjas, Alfred was soon before the cookie jar. Delicately taking the ceramic lid off, the treasure was revealed. White chocolate and macadamia nut cookies! Small sounds of contentment leaked out of Alfred as he grazed on the baked goods, pleased on a primal level. After destroying quite a few, his urge to snack was sated. There was a quick stop in the bathroom, then Alfred was going back to bed. It was pretty early after all.

Finishing up his business, Alfred eyed the bathroom scale tucked away beside the toilet. “Hey Mr. Scale. It's just you and me. I've been working out four times a week so you better be nice to me.” the man whispered jokingly. He set the scale out in the open, wiping off a thick layer of dust. It had certainly been a while.

Stepping on with a slow breath, Alfred looked straight ahead and braced himself the worst. Looking down, the terrible truth was revealed. He had gained almost 20 lbs since moving in with Ivan. A murmur of “What the fuck.” hissed out of him. No. The scale was broken or something. Alfred got off and reset the scale, making absolutely certain it was functional. Next Alfred chucked off his sleeping pants for good measure. It was probably a heavy blend, or any number of reasons why Alfred wasn't fat.

After all this, the scale still told a virtually same number. “ _Fuck._ ”

Alfred's mini-crisis spiralled in this way for several more minutes. A bleary eyed Ivan wandered over from the bedroom, looking in the open door curiously. “Fedya?”

“What?” Alfred snapped, ready to throw the useless weight scale off the balcony.

“You're upset.”

“You're fucking right I'm upset! This stupid machine said I was fat!”

Ivan blinked slowly, then looked down as the poor scale. “What?”

“It said I gained twenty pounds! I'm ruined! I'm a cow now!” Alfred was rational in some respects but this was not one of them. His longest career by far had been as an exotic dancer. In such a competitive field, weight gain was a death sentence. Combined with the American national past time of failed dieting, Alfred never took shifts in weight well. “It's broken or something! Fix it!”

Ivan smiled and picked up the scale. “Yes, you're right. It's been giving me bad numbers too. I will fix.” Relieved, Alfred smiled at him. Good dependable Ivan. He was as skilled with his brain as he was with his hands... and other body parts. A minute or two later, the shirtless Ivan returned. He placed the scale on the floor. “All better.”

Alfred looked down, then furrowed his brow in disappointment. There was masking tape over the scale display, with 'PERFECT' written on top in permanent marker. “That's not fixing it.”

“It is. Look. Step on the scale.” Ivan insisted. Alfred rolled his eyes but did as directed. “See Fedya? The scale says you are a perfect weight. It clearly works.”

The sheer cheesiness of this moment got to the younger man. Alfred blushed and trailed off as he talked. “I mean... I'm just a regular guy and stuff...” The remaining air was crushed out of his lungs in a huge Braginsky style hug. Alfred was then slung over Ivan's shoulder like a bag of produce. Carried back to bed, he was placed with care on his back. Ivan then trapped him in a super snuggle under fluffy covers.

“Mine.” Ivan cooed. A kiss to his temple as Ivan held the blonde tight. The larger man's mostly naked body was fuzzy and warm in the darkness.“Mine, and the world is going to know.”

“What?” Alfred asked in concern, not resisting being utterly possessed. He actually thrived under all this attention, eternally thirsty for more praise. He drank in any love scattered his way, most of his life a desert devoid of joy.

“You, me, Katya, and Toris are all going out to a nice lunch today. We'll officially be out on a double date.” Ivan explained.

The idea was perfect, yet horrifying. Ivan's sisters were still extremely resistant to accept such a new change, treating Alfred like a stranger. It was spiritually crushing on a few levels to be so openly rejected with few support systems. All the same, Alfred understood their latent hostility. He crumbled a little, depressed at the thought of all this. “I don't think your family likes me.”

“I will _make_ them like you.” Ivan's was tone steely and sharp.

Alfred giggled at this, amused by the thinly veiled violence of that promise. “That's not how friendship works.”

“Says you. You kissed me after declaring we were friends.”

“Only because you're so damn handsome.”

It took a royal age like usual, but they eventually prepared for the day. Alfred lounged around in boxers while sipping coffee. He watched Ivan nitpick himself to death with a sweet smile. So far Ivan had poured over his very extensive wardrobe twice trying assemble an outfit. He looked ready to fall apart from nerves. Meanwhile, Alfred was perfectly content to be half naked with a _damn_ fine cup of brew.

“Vanya, you're over thinking this.” Alfred teased, sitting on the edge of their massive bed.

Ivan emerged from his huge closet, two different waistcoats slung over his arm. “I'm not. This is the first double date I've ever had. It has to be perfect!”

“Come here, I want to tell you a secret.” The bed was patted with a free hand. The hot coffee was set on the nightstand to avoid burns. Ivan looked at his newly minted boyfriend cautiously, then set the clothes down and came over. He sat, leaning in curiously.

“What is the secret Fedya?” he asked softly.

Alfred kissed him on the cheek, looping an arm around the larger man. “You have a cute butt.”

The desired effect was achieved. Ivan blushed and looked away, not able to take compliments well. “That's not a secret. It's not even true. Your... _everything_ is cuter.” The ash blond stated this as if he were talking about the weather. He treated their growing love like a fact of science tat could not be denied. Given how much Ivan admired science and technology, this was very flattering.

Swooning at this latest claim, Alfred kissed Ivan again. It was harder not to kiss him. “I also know something else.”Alfred went on. Ivan pressed closer for extra smooches of his own, listening intently. Alfred tickled him without warning, making the proud man wriggle and cry out like a girl. “Aah! Stop it!” Ivan shrieked with laughter, unable to escape tickling hands.

Despite all the affectionate distractions, a tickle fight, and Alfred being a horrible tease during a shared shower, they were both dressed and ready. Ivan was in black trousers, a red and black waist coast, and a smart red tie. A crisp white shirt was the background of this stylish endeavour. As Ivan pulled on his lavish black fur coat, he admired his companion. A lustful hooded gaze raked over every part of the gifted suit worn by Alfred. That fitted perfect ass was no exception.

Alfred was in a simple fitted suit the colour of steel, with a black shirt beneath. A white tie visually popped, along with a crimson pocket square. “How fancy is this place?” the honey blonde asked. Alfred leaned against Ivan like post as he slipped on dark leather shoes.

“Very fancy. I use the place to woo fancy clients, but I've never eaten much outside of salad. I thought it would be nice to order an actual meal there.” Ivan replied, still eating Alfred with his eyes.

Soaking in the attention, Alfred stopped to grab Ivan by the coat collar. That rosy blush dusted the Russian-American's paler complexion. Pulled gently into a kiss, he did not resist at all. “Maybe we should get going before I am distracted.” Ivan murmured.

“Maybe.” Alfred breathed between kisses, getting entirely lost in the activity.

Ivan's phone rang loudly, shattering the mood. The man shivered from need to fuck Alfred's brains out, but answered the device. Alfred pouted at the intrusion. He finally stopped being a cock tease long enough to put on his own jacket. A fluffy wool hat capped it all off. They certainly made for a classy pair.

Whoever called, the conversation was short. Ivan pretty much grunted fragmented English then hung up. He reported after, sounding irritated. “Katya and Toris will be here in twenty minutes.” His frustration was palpable, as obvious as the hardened erection in his pants. Ivan _really_ liked Alfred in fancy clothes. It was ironic, since they were taken off frequently.

“I think I can fix your little problem in twenty minutes.” Alfred offered sweetly. He was such a kind saint that way.

Twenty minutes later, Katya was right on time. Ivan was trying his best to look calm and failing. Together, the two men stepped out of the elevator. Entering the underground parking lot of the building, they spotted Toris's slightly dented little car. All four adults had agreed to carpool, due to heinous parking fees.

“What if she sees, she knows...” Ivan fretted, still paranoid about their new relationship.

“There's nothing Katya can do about it.” Alfred replied as they walked forward, happy as could be. Giving Ivan a world class blow job had been fun after all. The two men piled into the back seat, pushing aside a few children's toys.

“Ready to go boys?” Katya greeted, dressed as richly as her sibling. Tawny white fur coat obscured what was probably a striking blue dress. Ah, she was where Ivan inherited his noir movie style from. Toris was much more plain, his blue collar roots showing clearly. It was a beige suit of sorts with a random green tie. He glanced back as his wife chatted with Ivan, both hands on the wheel.

“Hey.” Alfred greeted.

“Hey.” Toris repeated back, very much dragged along in this. Alfred could sympathize with the guy. After all, Alfred wanted to do a new investigation instead of burning cash in a pile.

After much fast Russian chatter, the journey began. Ivan would idly give directions as the stuffed car navigated the urban madness of New York. Eventually they landed in a historic neighbourhood called Greenwich village. It was the most unassuming of places, on a narrow side street lined with rustic brick sidewalks. The group followed Ivan in, taken in by the dreamy atmosphere of the restaurant called 'Carbone'.

The main dining area looked like a Hollywood set come to life. There was cozy tables with patterned fabric covers, and lovely chairs. The mood lighting was damn near romantic to Alfred's blunted taste. When there was actual oil paintings on the wall, he knew they were in rich land. Maybe even super rich land.

Everyone was seated cordially, and given elegant menus printed in black and white. There was no prices on the menu to steer by. That was concerning to Alfred's penny pinching senses. How expensive was this place? “Oh Vanya, this place is so lovely.” Katya commented, taken in by her surroundings. Toris was not immune, distracted with admiring the art on the walls.

Feeling lost and stupid, Alfred looked at the menu with despair. It was barely in English, and Alfred had no idea what the dishes were supposed to be. Ivan put a soothing hand on his thigh under the table. “I can ask what is best today.” he offered, sympathetic and seeming to understand. After all, the guy had never ordered more than a salad here.

Alfred was grateful as the polite staff recommended what to eat and drink. Katya seemed to navigate the menu just fine. Apparently she had been here before on Ivan's generosity. With the attentive waiter scuttling off to the kitchen, the four adults began chatting lightly. Ivan and Ekaterina remembered to chat in English this time, accommodating Alfred. That was nice of them.

“You must teach him Russian sometime.” Ivan's sibling spoke boldly, less dismissive than usual.

“If he wishes. We've been so busy with cases, time is an issue.” Ivan replied, giving a loving glance to his seated partner. It was true. Between working and fucking like bunnies, there wasn't much time left in a day.

“I know Spanish already. I don't know if I could shove another language in there.” Alfred joked, taking his flute of wine as it was filled by the nearly mute waiter. He took a sip, and cringed. Wine still wasn't his thing, despite being exposed to it by Ivan. Switching the wine flute for Ivan's water, he was able to wash the taste out.

“You learned Spanish at school?” the sister asked curiously.

“Oh no. I learned it from workers on the family farm.” Alfred's explanation sparked intense interest from an otherwise quiet Toris. It seemed the displaced Lithuanian came from a long line of wool farmers. They shared one story after another of farmhand pranks and past family gatherings. It felt pleasant to have something in common with another adult. Soon everyone was laughing and knocking back bubbly wine. Everyone except Alfred, who was unofficially the new designated driver. Ivan didn't seem to care since it wasn't his car at stake.

Alfred shouldn't have become so comfortable with the company. The ugly snarls of such a touchy subject soon appeared. “With such an interesting family, I thought they would have come to see us. Are they nearby?” Katya asked innocently.

Ivan was the first to rise to Alfred's defence. “He was disowned and banished from his religious community.”

“That's stupid.” Toris said sternly. It was possibly the only confrontational thing to leave his mouth all day.

Ivan usually told his family almost everything. Alfred had simply assumed the older sister knew and was being a dick to him anyway. Katya however, looked shocked. “I... couldn't imagine being isolated like that. I apologize for my earlier rudeness.”

Alfred wanted to change topic, or curl up and die. Whatever happened first was preferable. He chose to go to the bathroom instead. “I'll be right back.” Fleeing the table, Alfred shuddered a breath anxiously as he entered the rustic yet beautiful bathroom. A man in a bland grey suit leaned against a wall, browsing his phone. He was unremarkable in every way a man could be. The stranger looked up from his phone and smirked.

Ignoring this, Alfred splashed water on his face from the sink. He had to calm the hell down. Just talking about his excommunication made him panic internally. How pathetic. Sudden movement to his right make him stand up straight in an instant. The unremarkable stranger was approaching without warning.

“Hey, what are you –” Alfred's wary words were cut off short. A hard strike to the head from behind knocked him out instantly.


	15. Waiting

Ivan stared out the windows of his classy condominium. He scrutinized the city skyline, the streets, the dirty snow that gather in tall banks. None of them held answers, or apologies for what happened. All of this was a terrible nightmare turned real. The fact was, Alfred had been kidnapped in a restaurant bathroom.

No one could recall anything remarkable about anyone in the bathrooms. No one remembered what the grey suited man looked like. No one recalled the two men with him. No one knew anything, and now... now... no. Alfred wasn't dead. He couldn't be. There was a squeak of a door knob. Ivan turned with whiplash movements towards the front door. “Alfred!?”

It was not Alfred. It was Katya, in casual clothes. She had likely changed some time in the six hours since lunch. Honestly, none of these little details mattered. Katya was not Alfred. “Vanya... Have you eaten or done anything since... the incident?”

Ivan's tear splotched face twitched slightly at the mentioning of the kidnapping. He struggled to recall if he had done anything in hours except drink. He must have drank, because he was gripping an empty vodka bottle tightly. Just something to hold he supposed. He should be holding Alfred. If he had accompanied Alfred to the bathroom, this wouldn't have happened. If he had not waited fifteen whole minutes to check in on his lover's condition, Alfred still might be here. If... If...

“Vanya?”

Dragged back to the present by her voice, Ivan stammered “He's gone. He's gone Katya.”

“I know he's gone, but you have to eat.” The older sister sighed. She tugged him to the couch, but he wouldn't sit. He couldn't because he would lose sight of the window. How else would he see if Alfred was coming back from down stairs? “Fine. Stand. But you're going to eat something.”

A granola bar was shoved in his hands. He absently dropped it, not caring or noticing. He was pushed to sit, but he would never budge. He would be a stone, waiting eternally for Alfred's destined return. The police had promised they would find his precious Alfred. Ivan was mostly confident they would. After all, he had installed a tracking device on Alfred's wallet. He had done it the day Alfred moved in.

Ivan had never trusted other people most of his life, including now. Even back then, a morally constricted Ivan knew Alfred was going to affect him in some way. Whether that would be for better or worse was undetermined at the time. It was in the frame of mind that Alfred's wallet was bugged with a tracking device. No doubt it was weird and illegal, but Ivan's obsessive state of mind was at risk otherwise.

It was due to this paranoid decision, that Alfred's return was assured. Honestly, Ivan had completely forgotten about the tracking signal until today. So why had the police not found Alfred yet? Why were they taking so long? What if he was dead?

“VANYA!” Katya's motherly shout snapped him back to reality again.

“WHAT!” Ivan roared back, instantly angry.

“You're completely out of it! I was trying to talk to you!” She stood, arms akimbo with a scowl of disapproval. Her faded college sweater bunched around her hips at such a pose.

“I'm out of it because a piece of my heart is missing! Alfred was stolen from me! He's the first person I've ever loved and he's kidnapped or murdered!” Ivan wailed, more terrified than infuriated now. At this, the older sister hushed him and pulled him into a hug. It was soft embrace, inescapable and partially crushing. It was a gesture of love and security. All Braginsky women were strong in this way, proud of their heritage.

“He's not dead.” Katya soothed, rocking him slightly.

“W-what if he is?” Ivan sniffled, falling apart between violent mood shifts. He didn't know merely existing was so difficult without Alfred there to smile.

“He isn't. I know it.”

“B-b-but what if he's –” Ivan was silenced once more, a granola bar shoved in his talking mouth. It was almond and cranberry, his favourite kind. He chewed and swallowed slowly. Exhausted from standing in front of the window for four hours straight, he finally sat on the couch. He had not stood at attention so long since his military days in Russia. Despite being only a decade prior, that era felt like an eternity ago.

“Now listen my Vanushka. You have to let the police do their job, yes?” Katya lectured, her parenting mode on for over ten years now.

“But, I want to help, and I need to find –” Ivan's panicked ramblings were squashed again.

“We are going to eat, and poop, and function the way normal people do. Alfred will be returned. All these silly tears will be a big joke we can all laugh at. Right?” She pressed on, not leaving any room for argument. Mama had been the very same, until her battle with brain cancer fatally concluded itself.

“Right...” Ivan mumbled, letting himself be scolded and fed at the same time. Glancing at the window, thick salty tears sprang forth. Every breath without Alfred hurt like broken glass, his heart shattered and frozen. He knew then, losing Alfred would kill him too.


	16. Caught and Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize ahead of time for the abuse of italicized font in this chapter.

Soft hazy words and a rough fabric over his face. Laboured breathing and pain. Alfred regained consciousness, laying on a flat surface. He could feel movement and vibration beneath him, the purr of an engine. No doubt he was in a utility van, with all the leg room offered. Unable to see or move, he listened in.

“... a strangle and mangle?” a deep voice asked.

“No. Just a pick up. The client is an idiot.” another replied, sounding vaguely European. Alfred couldn't tell most of the goofy accents apart.

“But we got paid.”

“Yes. All here.”

“We should celebrate after. I feel like having those famous BBQ ribs Americans are so fond of.” The deeper voice sounded almost happy.

There was a long pause, then the second voice spoke up. “He's waking up.”

“Drug him. We still have an hour of traffic to deal with.”

Large strong grip came from Alfred's right, seizing a tightly bound arm. Alfred shrieked in panic, kicking and resisting out of sheer terror. He distantly realized he had been pricked by a needle in the commotion, but instinct drove him to scream and push back on his aggressor. He only met empty air, blind and tied.

“Make him shut up!” The more exotic voice demanded.

“On it boss.” A large hand pressed over Alfred's mouth, stifling his noisy protests. After a few minutes, the captive man grew woozy. Whatever they stuck him with was smothering his senses. Struggling to keep his eyes open, the kidnapper's words began slurring together.

“Is he down yet?”

The response was nonsense as Alfred dropped into forced unconsciousness. He dreamed dimly, darkly, of nothing for a time. Rising out of the dark, Alfred found he was very cold. Confined by leather straps, he was definitely on a metal table. He knew this without opening his groggy eyes, because he was naked. Finally daring to look, the light or the room pierced his vision.

He was indeed strapped to a table while naked. He was in a white tile room, so clean it was uncomfortable. With no windows or wall clock to go by, Alfred wondered what the time was. Beside the table was a metal trolley. He couldn't see over the top from this angle. Giving up on that, he tested the leather restraints. They were quite sturdy, unfortunately. Lucky for Alfred, his glasses were still on his face.

A man entered from a corner door, garbed in a lab coat and a breath mask. Still, it was unmistakable who the brown haired figure was. That sense of privilege he carried with each step, the silken shirt collar poking up. The gold frame glasses of sheer ostentation. “Mister Edelstein?” Alfred blurted out, shocked and confused.

“Oh good. You remembered me. I try to be memorable.” The other man greeted. He didn't seem to register that Alfred was trapped, nor move to assist him.

“Get me outta here!” Alfred begged without shame, tugging on the leather straps again.

“Oh...” Mr. Edelstein pushed up his sliding glasses and smirked. It was the expression of a predator. “I can't do that. You see, Ivan is mine. You had the nerve to have sex with him. So now I have to chop off your dick. Well, not just your dick, but I'll _start_ there.”

Holy shit. Mister Edelstein was the Bronx River Butcher! Mind racing, Alfred's imagination spit out a dozen ways to save his family jewels, or at least delay it. “I don't understand. I thought you hated Ivan.” he lied, knowing how thirsty this lunatic was for Ivan's body.

“No! No, I love his smile, and his laugh, and his body. He's so perfect.” Mr. Edelstein swooned at the mention of his obsession. Going on for several minutes, the guy was so lovesick he had gone off the deep end. Alfred dared not move out of fear, hoping to get a good thirty minutes out of this monologue. It would be another half hour he still had his junk intact.

The rant turned sour, the mad man's face twisting to ugly sadness. “... but you see. He doesn't love me. He doesn't love me! _Me_! Billionaire and playboy, and he won't even answer! My! CALLS!” With this sudden spike of emotion, he picked up a scalpel off the trolley and stabbed it into Alfred's thigh. Alfred screamed, his leg throbbing and stinging. Enraged yet sorrowful, Mr. Edelstein stabbed the leg two more times before crumbling to tears. He left the scalpel lodged in skin and muscle.

“I only want him to love me! Is that too much to ask?” The beast sniffled, dabbing errant tears.

“Of course not.” Alfred quivered as he talked, from fear and pain. His leg burned as it bled, beginning to pool underneath him. The blood was hot, making the air smell rusty. Silent prayers to God looped in Alfred's head like a track. Please baby Jesus, anyone, _Satan_! Alfred just wanted to survive this encounter!

“I'm... I'm too upset. I need to gather my thoughts. I only get one chance at getting the cut right for Ivan's holiday present. If you cry, I swear I'll chop your vocal chords out.” The crazed murderer scolded Alfred lightly as he left, like this was a game.

Terrified, Alfred trembled in silence as he cried. This was it. He was going to die. He was strapped to a dissection table in a room designed for speedy cleaning. No, he was going to face facts. Alfred was in a murdering room, on a murder table. He was going to get _murdered_. The reality of this crushed his spirit. A dim hope of being rescued flickered like a candle in oblivion. Who would even find him? How would they find him? It wasn't like Ivan was a paranoid freak that slipped a tracking device on him. That would be weird and crazy, and sweet Vanya was mostly normal.

Alfred just had to delay his parts getting chopped off somehow. Mr. Edelstein ran a record company and two charities. He was a busy guy. Eventually he had to take a business call or something. Anything to live.

This bet was a sure one. Mr. Edestein returned, looking excited as he carried a mobile electric saw. “Now, back to business. I'm going to start with your feet instead. I'm thinking I should mail them to the police with a clever joke... but I can't think of any right now.” Starting up the moderately loud power tool, the crazed brunet frowned. He turned off the saw, then set it down.

Holding Alfred at scalpel point, he glared in warning as he answered his phone. The message was clear. Interrupting Mr. Edelstein's phone call would earn him a quick stab in the brain. Alfred didn't dare budge or make sound, holding his breath. He listened, sweating nervously.

“Hello?” “No. I told Fredrick not to promote that group yet.” “Because. They sound terrible.” “No, no, put Fredrick on the line.” “What do you mean, he's sick?” “I don't care. Give me his damn number.”

At this point in the phone call, Mr. Edelstein had lowered the scalpel, waving his arms around with gestures as he talked. He paced a few metres away, visually frustrated. He ended the call abruptly, tucking the phone into a pocket. He dragged a free hand over his face and groaned. “Corporate _idiots_. You get five... maybe ten more minutes with you feet, you whore. Enjoy them until I return.”

Alfred sagged in his restraints, relieved. Mr. Edelstein's gaze narrowed in judgmental fashion at this. He once more loomed over the horizontal table, furious. “Don't you think of escaping. _Don't speak_. **Don't try anything or I'll kill everyone you love**.”

There was no reaction from Alfred, stone still as he looked up with tearful eyes. His heart thundered from panic but he fought his instinct to run.

Pleased, Mr. Edelstein's dark purple eyes were alight with inhumane joy. He twirled around to leave, throwing a brief look over his shoulder. “And do stop crying. It's annoying me.” With that, he sauntered out of the room to make a phone call.

Please God. Please anyone. Alfred whimpered and sobbed softly, unable to help himself. He didn't know how long he did this. It was certainly longer than ten minutes. There was muffled Germanic cursing and nonsense outside the door after a time. Alfred tensed, not able to see much beyond his vantage point. More concerning was how dizzy he was becoming. His gaping leg wound was bleeding heavily, original scalpel still embedding deeply in muscle. It burned and stung. There wasn't enough tears to express this. Without warning, the metal door slammed open. Alfred shrieked, shaking with certainty he would die.

It was the cops. It was the cops, not Mr. Edelstein. “P-p-please help me.” Alfred sobbed and begged loudly. “P-please. I just want to go home, please.”

A familiar face hovered over Alfred's dizzy vision. It was Officer Ludwig. Good old Officer Ludwig, with his bland expression of constipation. The man spoke words that affected the very soul. Words that make Alfred weep, nearly exhausted.

“You are safe now.”


	17. The Chase Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! I had so much fun with this story. I thank everyone that left kudos, comments, or just plain read the thing. I do it for you folks as much as I do it for myself.

Ivan entered the room, a dirty place despite being cleaned. There was some stains you just couldn't wash away. With no less than two guards, one stain in particular was seated at a lone metal table. He was actually cuffed to the thing, his dull green prisoner's uniform crinkled. The beast smiled at Ivan with genuine affection.

Internally, Ivan was disgusted. Still, he remained professional as always. “Mr. Edelstein. Always interesting to meet you.” He greeted in the most neutral manner he could manage.

“Thanks, you're quite the charmer yourself.” The brunet answered sincerely.

Ivan pursed his lips at this, but suppressed any emotional reaction. “I was notified you gave a full confession.”

“I did.”

“I was curious as to why you never stated the motives.”

At this, the convict smirked. “Well, that requires you sitting down.” His Germanic accent, however faint, curled like a snake at these words. Just another way the madman was trying to gain control, typical serial killer behaviour. Ivan would comply, only to get this business done faster. Truthfully he was only here of his own interest. The detective neared the table then sat carefully. His every move was tracked like a play. Austria's dark purple eyes were alive with joy from this alone. He spoke again, spurred on by the mere presence of his fatal obsession. “Do you remember the first time was met at the Carbone?”

“I do. It was a Tuesday.” Ivan answered dryly.

“The dinner, the atmosphere, your kind words. It was the first time I fell in love. It was... a moment I can't forget.” Mr. Edelstein swooned and sighed in his chair, so love sick it was a disease. Surprisingly, this admission reminded Ivan darkly of someone else. Alfred's own endearing words held a same deep loyalty, a similar association. Of course, Alfred wasn't a crazy loon that murdered anyone in his path.

His thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Edelstein's talking. Ivan had forgotten how self absorbed the former client was. He listened passively. “It was then that I knew you were my true soul mate, my dearest. About a year ago and a half ago, I first discovered something horrible.”

The tone of the monologue changed sharply, violently. “I discovered you were screening my calls. You were taking other rich clients. You went to _our_ restaurant, _our special place_ , with strangers. You cheated on me, Mr. Braginsky. Yet... I forgive you. I forgive your time of weakness. I even tried to clean away anyone you cheated with. You understand right? All I ever wanted was your love. I could have been _all you ever needed_. **I'm all you ever needed**. At... at least you see that now dearest. Don't you?”

Ivan took in a deep breath and tented his fingers. He looked to the grey walls of this place, noting their stoic neutrality. He gathered himself, not daring to give the killer more mental nourishment than needed. “Why did you choose me? Why go through all this effort?” _Why throw away your life as a billionaire?_ This last question remained unasked by Ivan, yet it hung in the air like an obvious perfume.

The response was a surprisingly selfless one, or as selfless as Mr. Edelstein could manage. “You have this... I don't know how to say it. It's _undefinable_. It's this feeling you bring when you listen to me, it makes my heart want to sing. Not sing, more like...” The killer trailed off, looking at him with a rosy blush. A faint smile tugged at his lips, a rather expressive moment for the pragmatic man.

Ivan nodded, then looked to the guards. “Thank you. I'm believe I'm done here.”

The serenity of seconds before snapped like a twig in winter. “No, you can't. You just arrived.” Panic and sorrow stabbed the endings of words like ink as the convict protested.

With a gesture to the guards, Ivan stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of his black blazer. Mr. Edelstein spiralled out of control rapidly at being ignored. “You can't leave. _You can't_. **We are meant to be together**.”

As Ivan was escorted out, the demands grew louder and more irrational. After two long halls, there was only screams of visceral pain. Howls and curses like a beast locked in a cage. That was what Mr. Edelstein had become after all, trapped in a situation of his own design.

It was a relief to leave Queensboro Correctional Facility. Ivan finally reached the real world in the parking lot. Alfred was relaxing in the passenger seat of the restored Oldsmobile 88. Two of the things he loved most in one place. Of course, Alfred was more important... unless he scratched the car. Ivan got into the driver's seat, greeted by a kiss. It was a deep and gratuitous thing that make Ivan's mind go blank.

“Hello best future husband in the whole wide world.” Alfred flirted with his southern charms, still emotionally high from earlier.

Big sister was a wizened woman, advising Ivan to wait six months before asking Alfred's hand in marriage. He did exactly that, counting the days, the very hours, until six months was up. He set a literal timer for it that morning. That was how Ivan ended up proposing to Alfred in the middle of a store. He couldn't wait the extra hour to find a scenic summer park. He needed Alfred to be his forever, as soon as possible.

A troubling thought formed, making Ivan pause.

“What's the matter hot stuff?” Alfred asked, returning to his own seat after dragging himself over the middle console.

“What made you fall in love with me?” Ivan asked seriously.

“I, well..” Alfred cleared his throat, blushing hotly. “I guess the first thing was your personality, your mind, you know?”

Ivan didn't know, but he was beginning to. “I don't.”

“It was your kindness, and... you'll laugh. I shouldn't say it.”

“I'm your future husband. I think it's safe to tell me.” Ivan teased, giving Alfred a playful nudge.

At this, the attractive blonde decided to explain his inner workings. “It's just that you're so smart, and people know you're _fancy_ smart. All they have to do is look at you to know your smart. Then you talk to people, clients, whoever, and you ask things. When they answer, you really listen. I don't know about anyone else, but it makes me feel like... I'm special and cared about. Even if it's only for few seconds. Someone that smart, wanting to listen to me. It makes me want to tell you everything, all the time... Which makes you a damn good detective. Better than me...”

At this love laced confession, Ivan was struck with a powerful revelation. This was the same motivation that fuelled Mr. Edelstein's murdering spree. There was only two notable differences, both Alfred and the former client having tremendous ego. Mr. Edelstein had been rich and entitled. Alfred had been impoverished and riddled with poor self esteem. Was that all it took to make a person a killer? Was the human mind really that fragile and easy to skew?

This pondering was quickly tucked away, archived for a better time to be explored. Ivan kissed the hand he held like it was one of royalty, chaste but sweet. “You are the better detective, Fedya. You are never blinded by sentiments or tricked by your own bias. You have eyes that see truth. You solved Yao's murder all by yourself, even though you had the wrong suspect in mind.”

“Gosh, I mean, I did work pretty hard on it.” Alfred gushed, bearing charismatic yet false modesty.

“You did, and I'm so proud of you. I love you.” Ivan kissed Alfred again on the lips, more carnal this time.

Slightly breathless after, Alfred took a moment to gather his senses. “Let's go plan a wedding big guy.” Ivan started the car with chuckle. Alfred had no idea there was two thick binders ready to go, down to the finest detail. Every imaginable expense was charted and organized. He bought the rings they now wore the very day he realized he was in love. That was six months ago.

Finally, Ivan was ready to plan the rest of his life with Alfred Foster Jones.


End file.
